The Strand 1913-4 Vol_XLV №268 April mich

412 THE STRAXD MAGAZINE. pocket he brought a knife, with a blade thinned by stone and polished by leather. He tried its keen edge on his thumb, shook his head, and applied the steel to his boot. Presently he began to scrape his upper-lip. It pained him, and he desisted. Not for the first time he wished he had a real razor. Finally he took from his pockets a key and two pennies. He opened a drawer in the old chest and placed the pennies in a disused tobacco- t i n, which already con- tained a few coins. He knew very well the total sum therein, but he reckoned it up once more. One shilling and sevenpence. Every Satur- day he handed his wages to his mother, who re- turned him six- pence. His pre- sent hoard was the result of two weeks' abstin- ence from cigarettes and walking instead of taking the car. He knew the job in the West-end would take at least another week, which meant another sixpence, and the coming Saturday would bring a second sixpence. Total in the near future, two shillings and sevenpence. He smiled un- certainly and locked up the treasure. A minute later he slipped quietly into the passage and took his cap from its peg. The kitchen door opened. \" Whaur are ye gaun, Macgreegor?\" his mother asked. \" Got,\" he replied, briefly, and went. Going down the stairs he felt sorry somehow. Sons often feel sorry somehow, but mothers may never know it. When Lizzie, hiding her hurt, had shut the kitchen door. Mr. Purdie said, softly : \" That question an' that answer, ma dear, are as auld as human natur'.\" As Macgregor turned out of the tenement close he encountered his one-time chum. Willie Thomson. Macgregor might not have ad- mitted it to his parents, but during the last WhE MACGRBBOOK3 HOME. few weeks he had been finding Willie's company less and less desirable. Willie now put precisely the same question that Mrs. Robinson had put a minute earlier. \" I'll maybe see ye later,\" was Macgregor's evasive response, delivered awkwardly. He passed on. \" Hae ye a ceegarette on ye ? \" cried Willie, taking a step after him.

THE WOOING OF \\\\'EE MACGREEGOR. from his grandparents on the purchase of two tickets for Katie, his first love (so far as we know), and himself. The picnic was a thorough success, but neither Macgregor nor Katie enjoyed it. It was not so much that anything came between them as that some- thing that had been between them departed —evaporated. There was no quarrel ; merely a dullness, a tendency to silence, increasing in dreariness as the bright day wore on. And at last, in the railway compartment on the way home, they sat, crushed together by the crowd, Katie dumb with dismay, Macgregor steeped in gloom. Opposite them sat Jessie Mary and her escort, a young man with sleek hair, a pointed nose, several good teeth, arid a small hut exquisite black moustache. These two were gay along with the majority of the occupants of the carriage. Perhaps in her simple sixteen-year-old heart Katie began to realize that she was deserted indeed ; perhaps Mac- gregor experienced prickings of shame, not that he had ever given or asked promises. Still, it is to be hoped that he did not remember then any of Katie's innocent little advances of the past. Macgregor was caught by the vivacious dark eyes of Jessie Mary, snared by her impudent red mouth, held by the charm of her face, which the country sun had tinted with an unwonted bloom. Alas for the little brown mouse at his side ! At briefer and briefer intervals he allowed his gloomy glance to rest on the girl opposite, while he became more and more convinced that the young man with the exquisite moustache was a \"blether- in1 idiot.\" Gradually he shifted his position to the very edge of the seat, so as to lessen his contact with Katie. And when Jessie Mary, without warning, presented to his attention her foot in its cheap, stylish shoe, saying : \"I wish ye wud tie ma lace, Macgreegor,\" a strange wild thrill of pride ran through his being, though, to be sure, he went scarlet to the ears and his fingers could scarce perform their office. And now she was approaching him. For the life of him he could neither advance nor retire. Still, such of his wits as had remained faithful informed him that it was \" stupid-like \" to do nothing at all. Whereupon he drew out his watch and appeared to be profoundly interested in the time. \" Halloa ! \" Jessie Mary remarked, care- lessly. \" Fancy meetin' you, as the man said to the sassige-roll ! \"

414 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. tinued. \" Only three-an'-six for a ticket admittin' lady an' gent.\" \" Och, I'm no' heedin' aboot dancin',\" said Macgregor, knowing full well that his going was out of the question. \" It'll be a splendid dance. They'll keep it up till three/' she informed him. \" Aye, ye'H hae plenty offers,\" he said, drearily. \" I'm seriously thinking o' wearin' pink,\" she told him, as they turned into the main street. \" It's maybe a wee thing common, but I've been told it suits me.\" Macgregor wondered who had told her. and \" HE WENT SCARLET TO THE KARS AND HIS FINGERS COULD SCARCE I'ERFORM THF.IR OFFICK.\" With his heart in his mouth he inquired observed that pink was a bonny colour, who was taking her to the dance. \" But—but ye wud look fine in ony auld \" Oh, I haena decided yet.\" She gave thing.\" her head a becoming little toss. \" I've several \" Nane o' yer flattery !\" she said, with a offers. I'll let them quarrel in the meantime.\" coquettish laugh.

THE WOOING OF WEE MACGREEGOR. \" I wud like fine to see ye at the dance,\" he said, with a sigh. \" Come, an' I'll gie ye a couple o' dances— three, if I can spare them.\" Hitherto Jessie Mary had regarded Macgregor as a mere boy and sometimes as a bit of a nuisance, but she was the sort of young woman who cannot have too many strings to her bow. \" I can get ye a ticket,\" she added, encourag- ingly. \" It's nae use speakin' aboot the dance,\" he said, regretfully. Then, abruptly : \" Yer birthday's on Tuesday week, is't no' ? \" Jessie Mary looked at him. His eyes were on the pavement. \" Wha tell't ye that ? \" \" I heard ye speakin' aboot yer birthday to somebody at the picnic.\" \" My, ye've a memory ! \" \" But it's on Tuesday week—the twinty- third ? I was wantin' to be sure.\" \" Weel, it's the twinty-third, sure enough.\" She heaved an affected sigh. \" Nineteen ! I'm gettin' auld, Macgreegor. Time I was <iettin' a lad ! Eh ? \" She laughed at his confusion of face. \" But what for d'ye want to ken aboot ma birthday ? \" she innocently inquired, becoming graver. The ingenuousness of the question helped him. \" Aw, I jist wanted to ken, Jessie Mary. Never heed aboot it. I hope ye'll enjoy the dance—when it comes.\" This was quite a long speech for Macgregor to make, but it might have been even longer had they not just then arrived at the provision shop. \" Here we are,\" said she, cheerfully. She had the decency to ignore the smile of the young man behind the counter—the young man with the sharp nose and exquisite black moustache ; nor did she appear to notice another young man on the opposite pavement who was also gazing quite openly at her. \" Here we are, an' here we part—to meet again, I hope,\" she added, with a softer glance. \" I'll wait till ye've got yer messages,\" said Macgregor, holding his ground. She gave him her sweetest smile but one. \" Na, Macgreegor; it'll tak' me a while to get •>.he messages, an' I've ither places to gang efterwards. Maybe I'll see ye floatin' aroun' anith'er nicht.\" \" But I'm no' in a hurry. I—I wish ye wud let me wait.\" ,Her very sweetest smile was reserved for the most stubborn cases, and she gave it him now. But her voice, though gentle, was quite firm. \" If ye want to please me, Macgreegor, ye'll no' wait the nicht.\" He was conquered. She nodded kindly and entered the doorway. \" Guid-bye, Jessie Mary,\" he murmured, and turned away. There were no other customers in the shop. Jessie Mary took a seat at the counter. The young man, stroking his moustache, gave her a good evening tenderly. \" I'm to get to the dance,\" she said, solemnly.

4i6 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. her financial position generally, she incon- tinently groaned. Nevertheless, she pre- sently proceeded to prepare a two-line advertisement for the Evening Express. She was still in the throes of composition, endeavouring to say in twenty words what she thought in two hundred, when Mr. Baldwin, traveller for a firm of fancy-goods merchants, entered the shop. A c- quainted with his kindly manner in the past, she ven- tured to confide to him her present difficulties. Mr. Baldwin was not only sympa- thetic, but helpful. \" Why,\" said he, \" my niece Christina might suit you—in fact, I'm sure she would. She is nearly sixteen, and only yesterday finished a full course of book- keeping. More than that, Miss Tod, she has had experience in the trade. Her aunt before her marriage to — er— myself — had a little business like your own, at the coast. I had thought of get- ting Christina a situation in the wholesale, but I believe it would be better for her to be here, for a time at least. I know she is keen on a place where she can have her own way —I mean to say, have room to carry out her own ideas.'' Mr. Baldwin halted in some confusion, but speedily recovered. \" Any- way,\" he went on, \" give her a trial. Let me send her along to see you this evening.\" That evening Christina came, saw, and, after a little hesitation, conquered her doubts as to the suitability of the situation. \" I'll manage her easy,\" she said to herself, while attending with the utmost demure- ness to M. Tod's recital of the duties required of her assistant—\" I'll manage her easy.\" Within six months she had made good her unuttered words. It was Saturday afternoon. M. Tod was about to leave the shop for an airing. Time takes back no wrinkles, yet M. Tod seemed younger than a year ago. She had lost the withered, yellowed complexion of those who worship continually in the Temple of Tannin ; her movements were freer; her voice no longer fell at the end of every sentence on a note of hopelessness. She glanced round her shop with an air of pride. From behind the counter Christina, with a kindly, faintly amused smile, watched her. \" Aye,\" remarked M. Tod, \" every-

THE WOOING OF WEE MACGREEGOR. her assistant's deft fingers. \" I couldna say when I got this yin.\" \" Oh, I'm no' keen on dates. But \"— encouragingly—\" we'll tak' stock next week, an' when we've struck the half-year's balance I'll no' be surprised if ye tak' the plunge an' burst a pound-note at the milliner's.\" Christina administered a final pat to the ancient bonnet. \" Noo ye're ready for the road. See an' no' catch cold. I'll hae the kettle at the bile against yer return at five.\" \" I'll no' be late,\" replied M. Tod, who, to tell the truth, was already wishing it were tea-time, and departed. Christina looked round the shop to see if aught required her attention ; then, being satisfied that naught could be improved, she seated herself on the stool and prepared to do a little book-keeping. As she dipped her pen, however, the door of the shop was slowly opened, the bell above it banged, and a young man—so she reckoned him—came in. In her quick way, though she had never seen -him be- fore, she put him down in her mind as a purchaser of a halfpenny football paper. But, having recovered from the alarm of the bell and carefully shut the door, he hesi- tated, surveying his surroundings. Christina flung back her thick plait of fair hair, slipped from the stool, and came to atten- tion. \"Nice day,\" she remarked, in her best manner. She contrived to get away from the ver- nacular in her busi- ness dealings. \" Aye.\" The young man smiled absently. \" Nice teeth,\" thought Christina. \" Was it anything special you wanted to see ? \" she inquired. Macgregor regarded her for a moment. \" I had a look at yer window,\" he said, his eyes wandering on e more, \" but I seen naething dearer nor a shillin'.\" Vol. xlv.-43. \" Oh ! \" exclaimed Christina. Then, re- covering her dignity : \" The window is merely a popular display. We have plenty of more expensive goods within.\" She felt pleased at having said \" within\" instead of \" inside.\" At the word \" expensive\" Macgregor shrank. \" Aboot half a croon ? \" he said, diffidently, taking a step towards the door.

4i8 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \" I—I dinna ken,\" he answered, between his teeth. \" I'll break that chair's neck for it some day ! \" cried Christina, her natural sympathy for suffering getting the better of her com- mercial instincts. Then she coughed in her best style. \" Do you think the young lady would like some- thing to wear ? \" \" I dinna ken, I'm s u r e.\" Macgregor pushed back his cap and scratched his head. \" Let's see what ye've got for wearin' an'—an' no' for wearin'.\" Christina, too, nearly scratched her head. She was striv- ing to think where she could lay hands on articles for which she could reasonably charge half a crown. Without notice- able delay she turned to a drawer, and pre- sently displayed a small green oblong box. She opened it. \" This is a nice fountain-pen,\" she explained. \" It's price has been reduced \" \" Aw, I'm no' heedin' aboot reduced things, thank ye a' the same.\" \" I'll make it two shillings to you,\" Christina said, persuasively. \" That's a very drastic reduction.\" Which was perfectly true. On the other hand, the pen was an old model which she had long despaired of selling. \" Nothing could be more suitable for a young lady,\" she added, exhibiting the nib. \" Real gold.\" But Macgregor shook his head. With apparent cheerfulness she laid the pen aside. \" It's for a young lady, I think you said ? \" \" Aye, it's for a young lady ; but she's no' that young either. Aboot ma ain age, maybe.\" Christina nearly said, \" About twelve, I suppose,\" but refrained. She was learning to subdue her tendency to chaff. \" I perceive,\" she said, gravely. \" Is she fond of needle- work ? \" \" I couldna say. She's gettin' a pink dress, but I think her mither's sewin' it for her.\" \" A pink dress ! \" muttered Christina, for. getting herself. \" Oh, Christopher Colum- bus ! \" She turned away sharply. \" Eh ? \" \" She'll be a brunette ? \" said Christina, calmly, though her cheeks were flushed. \" I couldna say,\" said Macgregor again.

THE WOOING OF WEE MACGREEGOR. 419 But perhaps the • general effect was not so got something to suit you in it. Thank you ! shocking. Half a crown—two-and-six exactly. Good \" I'll tak' them,\" he said, uneasily, and put afternoon ! \" his hand in his pocket. It may be that Macgregor would have \" Thank you,\" said Christina. \" Will that stopped to make a remark or two on his own be all to-day ? \" account, but just then an elderly woman \" Aye, that'll be a'.\" He had purposed entered the shop. \"'EXCUSE ME,\" SHE SAID, SOFTLY, LIFTING THE BELT AND FASTENING IT ROUND HER WAIST.\" spending the odd penny of his fund on a birthday card, but for some undefinable reason let the coin fall back into his pocket. Christina proceeded to make a neat parcel. \" You're a stranger here.\" she remarked, pleasantly. \" Aye. But I dinna live far awa'.\" Now that the ordeal was over he was feeling more at ease. \" Ye've a nice shop, miss.\" \" Do you think so ? I'm very glad you \" Guid-bye, miss,\" he murmured, touching his cap, and departed with his purchase. Christina dropped the silver into the till. To herself she said • ' I doobt he's no' as green as he's cabbage-lookin'.\" IV. FOR some weeks Macgregor had nourished an idea of making the birthday presentation with his own hands. In fancy he had beheld his own gallant proffering of the gifts, and

420 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. Jessie Mary's shy acceptance of the same. Why he should have foreseen himself bold and Jessie Mary bashful is a question that may be left to those who have the profound insight necessary to diagnose the delicate workings of a youthful and lovelorn imagina- tion. At the same time he had harboured many hopeful fears and fearful hopes, but to divulge these in detail would be sacrilege. On .the Monday evening he went home by an unaccustomed though not entirely unfamiliar route. It led him past the shop wherein he had made the birthday pur- chases on Saturday afternoon. The window was more brightly illuminated than the majority of its neighbours ; the garish contents were even more attractive than in daylight. Macgregor found himself regarding them with a half-hearted interest. Presently he noticed that one of the sliding glass panels at the back of the window was open a few inches. This aperture permitted him to see the following : A hand writing a letter on a sloping desk, a long plait of fair hair over a scarlet shoulder, and a youthful profile with an expression very much in earnest yet cheerful withal. Macgregor could not help watching the writer, and he continued to do so for several minutes with increasingly lively interest. He was even wondering to whom the letter might be written, when the writer, having dipped her pen too deeply, made a horrid, big blot. She frowned and for an instant put out her tongue. Then, having regarded the blot for a space with a thoughtful gaze, she seized the pen and with a few deft touches transformed the blot into the semblance of a black beetle. Whereupon she smiled with such transparent delight that Macgregor smiled also. \" What are ye grinnin' at ? \" said a voice at his elbow. He turned, to discover Willie Thomson. At no time in the whole course of their friendship had he felt a keener desire to hit Willie on his impudent nose. \" Naething,\" he muttered, shortly. \" Are ye gaun hame ? \" \" Aye,\" said Willie, noting the other's discomposure, but not referring to it directly. \" This isna yer usual road hame.\" \" Depends whaur I'm comin' frae,\" returned Macgregor, quickening his pace. \" Hae ye got a job yet, Wullie ? \" he inquired, more graciously. \" I tried yin the day, but it's no' gaun to suit me. But I've earned ninepence. Hae a ceegarette.\" Willie produced a yellow packet. \" Na, I'm no' smokin', Wullie.\" \" What's wrang wi' ye ? \" \" Naething. What sort of job was ye tryin' ? \" Willie told him, and thereafter proceeded to recount as many grievances as there had been hours in his working day. Macgregor

THE WOOING OF WEE MACGREEGOR. 421 They met near the tobacconist's—on Macgregor's home side, by the way—and he could not have looked more guilty had he sent her an infernal machine. \" It was awful kind o' ye,\" she said, sweetly ; \" jist awful kind.\" \" Aw, it was naething,\" he stammered. was all the feverish joy, the soft rapture anticipated three nights ago ? \" Did ye ? \" —that was all he said. She made allowance for his youth and the bashfulness she had so often experienced. \" Macgreegor,\" she whispered, slipping her hand through his arm in the darkness of the \" HE TURNED, TO DISCOVER WILLIE THOMSON.\" \" They're jist lovely, an' that fashionable,\" she went on, and gradually led the conversa- tion to the subject of the United Ironmongers' dance. \" Ye should come,\" she said, \" an' see hoo nice I look wi' them on. The belt'll be lovely wi' ma pink frock. An' the combs was surely made for black hair like mines. Of course I tried them on the minute I got them.\" \" Did ye ? \" murmured Macgregor. Where street leading to her home—\" Macgreegor, I believe I wud suner dance wi' you than onybody else.\" Macgregor seemed to have nothing to say. The touch of her hand was pleasant, and yet he was uneasy. \" Macgreegor,\" she said, presently, a little breathlessly, \" I'm no' heedin' aboot ony o' the chaps that wants to tak' me to the dance. If ye had a ticket \" She paused. They

422 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. had halted in the close-mouth, as it is locally termed. \" I'm sayin', Macgreegor, if ye had a ticket \" She paused again. The boy felt foolish and wretched. \" But I canna gang to the dance, Jessie Mary,\" he managed to say. She leaned closer to him. \" It'll be a splendid dance ; at least \"—she looked at him boldly—\" it wud be splendid if you and me was gaun thegether.\" In his wildest of wild dreams he may have thought of kissing this girl. He might have done it now—quite easily. But he didn't—he couldn't. \" Na; I canna gang,\" he said. \" An'—an' queer things, a shop-window, a plait of fair hair on a scarlet shoulder, and a black beetle. V. '' MERCY, laddie !\" exclaimed Mrs. Robinson, as her son entered the kitchen, a little late for tea. \" What hae ye been daein' to yer face ? \" The colour induced by the question seemed almost to extinguish the hectic spot at Macgregor's left cheek-bone. \" Washin' it,\" he answered, shortly, taking his accustomed chair. \" Tits, Lizzie ! \" muttered Mr. Robinson. \" Are ye for toast, Macgreegor ? \" \"HER SON ENTKRKD THE KITCHEN A LITTLE LATE FOR TEA.'' ma layther'll be waitin' for his tobacco. Guid n'icht.\" He glanced at her with a miserable smile and departed—bolted. And he dreamed that night of, among other \" He's been shavin' his whiskers,\" said Jim- sie. \" Did ye no' ken Macgreegor's gettin' whiskers, maw ? \" he went on, in spite of a warning pressure from sister Jeannie. \" Paw, what way dae folk get whiskers ? \"

THE WOOING OF WEE MACGREEGOR. 423 \" Dear knows,\" returned his father, briefly. \" Lizzie, can ye no' gie Macgreegor a cup o' tea ? \" Lizzie lifted the cosy from the brown teapot. \" Where did ye get the razor, Macgreegor ? \" \" He hasna got a razor, maw,\" said Jimsie. \" He does it wi' a wee knife.\" \" Shurrup ! \" Macgregor growled, where- upon Jimsie choked and his eyes filled with tears. \" Macgreegor,\" said his mother, \" that's no' the way to speak to yer wee brither.\" \" Macgreegor,\" said his sister, \" I'll mak' ye a bit o' hot toast, if ye like.\" \" Aye, Jeannie,\" said John, quickly, \" mak' him a bit o' hot toast, an' I'll look after Jimsie.\" He turned the conversation to the sub- ject of a great vessel that had been launched into the Clyde that morning. For the first time in the course of his married life John Robinson really doubted Lizzie's discretion. It was with much diffidence, however, that he referred to the matter after Macgregor had gone out and while Jeannie was superintending Jimsie's going to bed. \" Lizzie,\" he began, eyeing his cold pipe, \" did ye happen to notice that Macgreegor was a wee thing offended the nicht ? \" Mrs. Robinson did not halt in her business of polishing a bread-plate. \" Macgreegor's gettin' ower easy offended,\" she said, care- lessly enough. John struck a match and held it without application to his pipe until the flame scorched his hardened fingers. \" Speakin' frae expe- rience,\" he said, slowly, \" there's twa things that a young man tak's vera serious-like. The first \" \" Wha's the young man ? \" \" Macgreegor. Aw, Lizzie ! \" \" Macgreegor's a laddie.\" \" He's a young man—an' fine ye ken it, wife ! \" Lizzie put down the plate and took up another. \" An' what does he tak' serious- like ? \" she inquired, coolly. John lit his pipe in exceedingly methodical fashion. \" Weel, Lizzie,\" he began, at last, \" I jist wanted to say that when a young man's gettin' hair on his face, ye—ye shouldna notice it.\" \" I didna notice it.\" \" Weel, ye shouldna refer to it.\" \" It was the cut I referred to.\" John sucked at his pipe and scratched his head. \" That's true,\" he admitted. \" Still, if yer sister had a wudden leg ye wudna refer to the noise on the stair. It wasna like ye to hurt Macgreegor's feelins. I hope ye're no' offended, Lizzie.\" But it is to be feared that Lizzie was offended just then. She had not been the better-half for eighteen years without knowing it; she had grown to expect her easy-going husband's cheerful acquiescence in practically all she did, and to regard her acceptance of his most mild remonstrances as a sort of favour. And

424 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. be where he was not wanted, but the opera- tion involved a dttour of nearly a quarter of a mile, in the course of which he was held up by another youth of his acquaintance. Ten minutes were wasted in listening with ill- concealed impatience to fatuous observations on the recent play of certain professional footballers, and then he continued his journey only to fall, metaphorically speaking, into the arms of Jessie Mary emerging from a shop. \" Halloa, Mac ! I thought ye was deid ! \" was her blithe greeting, the \" sausage-roll \" phrase having at long last served its day. \" Ye're in a hurry,\" she added ; \" but so am I, so ye can walk back to the corner wi' me.\" Macgregor mumbled something to the effect that he was in no special hurry, and, possibly in order to give a touch of truth to his falsehood, turned and accompanied her. \" Ye've no' been giein' the girls a treat lately,\" she remarked. \" I haena noticed ye floatin' aroun'. Hae ye been keepin' the hoose at nicht ? \" \" Whiles,\" he replied, and inquired, with some haste : \" Hoo did ye enjoy the dance last week, Jessie ? \" \" Oh, dinna mention it ! \" she cried, with a toss of her head. \" I didna gang.\" \" Ye didna gang to the dance ? \" \"• If I had went, it wud hae meant blood- shed,\" she impressively informed him. \" Ye see, there was twa chaps implorin' me to gang wi' them, an' they got that fierce aboot it that I seen it wudna hae been safe to gang wi' either. A riot in a ballroom is no' a nice thing. An' if I had went wi' a third party, it wud ha'e been as much as his life was worth. So I jist bided at hame.\" Macgregor began, but was not allowed to complete, a sympathetic remark. \" Oh, I was glad I didna gang. The dance turned oot to be a second-rate affair entirely —no' half-a-dizzen shirt-fronts in the comp'ny. An' I believe there wasna three o' the men could dance for nuts, an' the refreshments was rotten.\" They had now reached the appointed corner. \" Jist as weel ye didna gang, then,\" absently said Macgregor, halting. \" Come up to the close,\" said Jessie Mary. \" I've something to show ye. Aye, it was jist as weel, as ye say. But there's a champion dance comin' off on the nineteenth o' Novem- ber—the young men o' the hosiery department are gettin' it up—naething second-rate aboot it. Ye should come to it, Macgreegor.\" She touched his arm—unintentionally, perhaps. Then, cheerfully: \" Weel, here we are ! But wait till I let ye see something.\" She halted at the mouth of the close and began to unbutton her jacket. \" Ye've never seen the belt since ye gied it to me, Macgreegor. I weer it whiles in the evenin'. There ye are ! It looks fine, does it no' ? Maybe a wee thing wide. I could dae wi' it an inch or twa tighter.

THE WOOING OF WEE MACGREEGOR. 425 Hastily deciding to \" burst \" the sum of one penny on the purchase of a pencil—an article for which he had more respect than use—he entered the doorway and turned the handle. He had forgotten the spring bell. When he pushed the door inwards it \" struck one\" — right from the shoulder, so to speak. \" Yes, sir ? \" A mouse-like human being slipped from the back of the shop to the middle point of the counter. \" Yes, sir ? \" it repeated, with an accent on the query. The girl at the desk took no notice. Macgregor approached. \" I was wantin' a pencil,\" he said, in the tone of one requesting a pint of prussic acid. \" A pencil ! \" exclaimed the mouse-like human being, as though she had a dim recollection of hearing of such a thing long, long ago. \" A pencil ! Oh, certainly,\" she added, more hopefully. \" Penny or ha'penny ? \" murmured the girl at the desk. \" Penny or ha'penny ? \" demanded the mouse-like human being, almost pertly. \" A penny yin,\" said Macgregor, with an attempt at indifference. \" A penny pencil ! \" The mouse-like human being assumed an expression suitable to a person who has just discovered the precise situation of the North Pole, but not the Pole itself. \" Top drawer on your left, Miss Tod,\" whispered the girl at the desk. \" Quite so, Christina,\" Miss Tod replied, with dignity. She opened the drawer, which was a deep one, peered into it, groped, and brought forth three bundles of pencils. With sudden mildness she inquired of the girl: \"These? Those?\" \" No ; them,\" said Christina, forgetting her grammar and grabbing the third bundle. \" Wait a minute.\" She slipped lightly from her stool and gently edged M. Tod from the position at the counter which had been familiar to the latter for five-and-thirty years. \" This,\" she said to Macgregor, laying the bundle in front of him, \" is a special line. One dozen, price threepence.\" She looked over his head in a manner suggesting that it was quite immaterial to her whether he purchased the dozen or faded away on the spot. But he had his dignity, too. Producing three pennies from two pockets, he laid them on the counter, took up the bundle of pencils, said \" Thank ye \" to nobody in particular, and marched out. Nor did he forget to close the door behind him. On the way home he threw the pencih into a dark entry. His father opened the door, smiling a welcome. \" Weel, Macgreegor \" \" I'm wearied,\" said the boy, and passed straightway to his room and bolted the door. Jimsie was sleeping like a log and was, as usual, occupying most of the bed. Macgregor stood at the old chest of drawers

426 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. On the grey Saturday afternoon of the week rendered so eventful by his first real shave Macgregor was once more standing by the window of M. Tod's shop. He was endeavouring to prop up his courage with the recollection of the fact that a fortnight ago, at the same hour as the present, there had been no old woman behind the counter, and with the somewhat rash deduction that no old woman was there now. He was also wondering what he could buy for a penny without making a fool of himself. .Macgregor was obsessed by the memory of the pencil transaction of three nights ago. Had he but kept his head then and confined his purchase to a single pencil he might now have had a fair excuse for requiring another. At any rate, he could have met suspicion with the explanation that he had lost the first. But who would believe that he had used, or lost, a whole dozen within the brief space of three days ? A wretched position to be in, for nothing else in the world of stationery was quite so natural and easy to ask for as a pencil—unless a Why had he not thought of it before ? A pen ! Saved ! He would enter boldly, as one who had every right to do so, and demand to be shown some pencils—no, pens, of course. There were many varieties of pens, he knew, even in small shops, so his selection would take time—lots of time. If only he were sure the old woman wasn't there ! And just then the bell rang, the door of the shop opened and closed, and the old woman herself came out. In spite of her hat, Mac- gregor recognized her at once. She turned her face skywards to make certain that it wasn't raining, gave a satisfied smirk, which Macgregor accepted with a fearful start, though it was intended for the window and its contents, and trotted up the street. On the wave of relief, as it were, Macgregor was carried from the window to the entrance. Yet he had no sooner opened the door with its disconcerting note of warning than he wished he had delayed a minute or two longer. To retire, however, was out of the question. He closed the door as though he were afraid of wakening a baby, and faced the counter. The girl was there and wearing the scarlet blouse again. She smiled coldly and said calmly : \" Good afternoon. Nice day after the rain.\" \" Aye,\" he said, solemnly, in response to the polite greeting, and advanced to the counter. \" Not just so disagreeable as yesterday,\" she added, a trifle more cordially. \" Aye—na.\" He glanced up and down the counter. \" I—I was wantin' a pencil,\" he said at last. \"A pencil?\" cried Christina; then, in a voice from which all the amazement had gone : \" A pencil—oh, certainly.\" Macgregor reddened, opened his mouth, and—shut it. Why should he make a bigger fool of himself by explaining that he had

THE WOOING OF WEE MACGREEGOR. 427 the operation. \" Are you sure there's nothing else to-day, sir ? \" Macgregor didn't want to go just yet, so he appeared to be thinking deeply. \" Essay paper—notebooks,\" she murmured —\" notepaper—envelopes—indiarubber \" \" Injinrubber,\" said Macgregor. (He would give it to Jimsie.) She turned and whipped a box from a shelf. \" Do you prefer the red or the white — species ? \" she inquired, and felt glad she hadn't said \" sort.\" \" Oh, I'm no' heed- in' which,\" he replied, generously, with a bare glance at the specimens laid out for his inspection. ' All the same price —one penny per cake. The red is more flexible.\" By way of exhibiting its quality, she took the oblong lengthwise between her finger and thumb and squeezed. To her dismay it sprang from her grip and struck the customer en the chin. \" Oh, mercy ! \" she exclaimed. \" I didna mean \" Recovering the missile from the floor, he said, gravely : \" My ! ye're a comic ! \" \" I'm not ! I tell ye I didna mean it. Did it hurt ye ? \" \" No' likely ! I ken ye didna try it.\" He smiled faintly. \" If ye had tried to hit me, ye wud hae missed me.\" \" If I had tried I wud hae hit ye a heap harder,\" she said, indignantly. \" Try, then.\" His smile broadened as he offered her the cake. \" I'll stan' still.\" Christina's sporting instinct was roused. \" I'll bet ye the price o' the cake I hit ye.\" And let fly. It went over his left shoulder. \" Hae anither shot,\" he said, stooping to pick up the rubber. But as swiftly as it had gone her pro- fessional dignity returned. Macgregor came back to the counter to receive a stiff: \"Thank you. Do you require anything else to-day?\" His mumbled negative, his disap- pointed counte- nance, reproached her. \" Of course,\" she said, pleasantly, as sheput his purchases in paper, \" I cannot charge you for the indiarubber.\" \" Aw, cheese it! \" hemuttered, shortly, flinging a penny on

428 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \" Please,\" said Christina, softly, dropping her eyes. \" Ve'll get me into trouble if ye dinna tak' them.\" \" Eh ? \" \" Miss Tod wud be vexed wi' me for lossin' a guid customer. She wud gie me the sack, maybe.\" \" Wud she ?—the auld besom ! \" cried Macgregor, retracing his steps. \" Oh, whisht ! She's no' an auld besom. But I ken she wud be vexed.\" Christina sighed. \" I suppose I'm to blame for \" \" It's me that's to blame,\" he interrupted. \" Here,\" he said, in an unsteady whisper, \" will ye shake ban's ? \" After a momentary hesitation she gave him her hand, saying, graciously: \" I've no objections, I'm sure. To tell the truth,\" she went on, \" I am not entirely disinterested in you, sir.\" Macgregor withdrew his empty hand. \" I —I wish ye wudna speak like that,\" he sighed. \" Like \"what ? \" \" That awfu' genteel talk.\" \" Sorry,\" she said. \" But it gangs doon wi' maist o' the customers. Besides, I try to keep it up to please ma aunt. But it doesna soun' frien ly-like, does it ? \" \" That's why I dinna like it,\" he ventured. \" I see. But if ye was servin' in a shop ye wud hae to speak the same way.\" \" I'm in the pentin' trade,\" he informed her, with an air of importance. \" I've a nose—but I like the smell fine. Ye're no' offended, are ye ? \" \" I'm no' that easy offended. Is Miss Tod yer aunt ? \" \" Na, na ; she's nae relation. Ma aunt is Mrs. James Baldwin.\" In the frankest fashion she gave a brief sketch of her position on the world's surface. While she spoke she seated herself on the stool, and Macgregor, without thinking about it, subsided upon the chair and leant his arm upon the counter. Ere she ended they were regarding each other almost familiarly. Anon Macgregor furnished a small account of himself and his near relatives. \" That's queer ! \" commented Christina, when he had finished. \" What ? \" he asked, anxiously. \" Ma Uncle James is a great frien' o' your Uncle Purdie. Your uncle buys a heap o' fancy things frae mine, an' he's often been in oor hoose. I hear he's worth a terrible heap o' money, but naebody wud think it. I like him fine.\" \" Ye wudna like ma aunt fine,\" said Macgregor. \" No' bein' acquaint wi' her, I canna say,\" Christina returned. \" But I believe if it hadna been for her yer uncle wud never hae made his fortune at the grocery trade \" \" Her ! What had she got to dae wi' 't ? \" \" Dear knows ; but Uncle James says she egged him on to mak' money frae the day she married him. But mony a woman does that. I wud dae it masel'—no' that I'm greedy ; I

THE WOOING OF WEE MACGREEGOR. 429 \" Wha—what d'ye mean ? \" \" I dinna mean to insult ye or hurt yer feelin's.\" Another pause. \" D'ye no' want to get up in the world, man ? D'ye no' want to be a millionaire—or a thousandaire, onyway ? \" \" Me ? \" \" Aye, you ! \" Across the counter he regarded her in a semi-dazed fashion, speechless. She was rather flushed ; her eyes danced with eager- ness. Apparently she was all in earnest. \" Are ye gaun to be a penter a' yer life ? \" she demanded. \" What for no' ? \" he retorted, with some spirit. \" It's guid pay.\" \" Guid pay ! In ten year what'll ye be earnin' ? \" \" I couldna say. Maybe—maybe twenty- five shillins ; maybe \" \"A week?\" \" Aye, of course,\" he said, nettled. \" D'ye think I meant a month ? \" \" If ye was wi' yer uncle an' stickin' to yer business, I wud hae said ' a day.' Ma gracious goodness ! If ye was pleasin' a man iike that, there's nae sayin' where ye wud be in ten year.\" \" Ach,\" he said, with an attempt at light- ness, \" I'm no\" heedin'.\" Christina smote the counter with such violence that he fairly jumped on his seat. \" Ye're no\" heedin' ? What's the use o' bein' alive if ye're no' heedin' ? But ye're a' the same, you young workin' men. Yer rule is to dae the least ye can for yer wages, an' never snap at an opportunity. An' when ye get aulder ye gang on strike an' gas aboot y»r rights, but ye keep dumb enough aboot yer deserts, an' \" \" Here, haud on ! \" cried Macgregor, now thoroughly roused. \" What dae you ken aboot it ? Ye're jist a lassie \" \" I've eyes an' ears.\" There was a pause. \"Are ye a — a suffragist?\" he asked, weakly. \" I haena quite decided on that pint. Are you in favour o' votes for females ? Aweel, there's nae use answerin', for ye've never thought aboot it. I suppose, like the ither young men aboot here, ye buy yer brains every Seturday done up in the sports edition o' the evenin' paper. Oh, Christopher Columbus ! That's when 1 get busy on a Seturday nicht. Footba' footba'—footba'! \" Macgregor swallowed these remarks and reverted to the previous question. \" What,\" he inquired, a little loftily, \" dae you expec' to be earnin' ten year frae the noo ? \" Promptly, frankly, she replied : \" If I'm no' drawin' thirty shillins a week I'll consider masel' a bad egg. Of course, it a' depends on whether I select to remain single or itherwise.\" This was too much for Macgregor. He surveyed her with such blank bewilderment that she burst out laughing. He went red to the roots of his hair—or at

For the C ause. By RICHARD MARSH. Illustrated by W. R. S. Stott. OTHER got herself locked up. It was most awkward. Especially as some people were coming to dinner about whose entertainment father seemed a little anxious. I had no idea of what had happened until father had returned from the City. When he came in he asked where mother was. I told him I did not know. He looked at me with one of those looks which I sometimes feel mean a great deal more than he would care to put into words, but if he was suggesting that I was telling him a story I was not. At that time I did not know where mother was, but I did very soon afterwards. I was dressing. I had got as far as the frock, and was hesitating whether to wear the black merve or the blue chiffon, when someone knocked at my bedroom door, and Eliza put her head in. \" Mrs. Parker wishes to see you, miss.\" I felt all at once a sudden inward sinking. It is all very well to talk of martyrdom, and nothing could be nobler, but—all day long I had also been thinking of George. I knew Mrs. Parker, and Eliza knew Mrs. Parker. Eliza had been with us for years and years. I happened to know that she was thirty-six. On the great question she was what we all called half-hearted. \" I don't see,\" she was fond of saying, \" why I shouldn't have the vote as well as that there Jarrett.\" Jarrett was the gardener. \" I know as much about politics as he does, seeing that he knows nothing about anything at all. I want equal marriage rights for women, that's what I want.\" Directly Eliza told me that Mrs. Parker wished to see me, I felt that there was bad news. When I went down to Mrs. Parker in the little sitting-room, she beamed at me as if the world was full of gladness, but I noticed that her hat was a little on one side of her head, that there was the beginning of a bruise on her left cheek, and that her clothes generally looked as though they had got a little out of their proper places since she had put them on. \" My dear Miss Pilbeam,\" she exclaimed, directly she saw me, \" I bring you great tidings.\" \"Where is mother?\" I sat down, as I asked her, because I felt I had to. \" Dear Mrs. Pilbeam is in Bow Street police station. She's got herself locked up. This is a great day for her, and a proud one for you.\" Mrs. Parker smiled more than ever. But I did not feel like smiling. I thought of the people who were coming to dinner, and of what father would say, and—I thought of a good many things. \" What have they locked her up for ? \" \" It's not easy to find out. There's a great deal of excitement in Bow Street, and the

FOR THE CAUSE. gone out intending to break one. I meant to choose the very smallest I could find. But I walked on and on, through miles of streets, without finding one which suited me. I wished mother had had the same ill-fortune. I don't think I ever felt so miserable before, not even when I quarrelled with George, or rather, when George quarrelled with me. \" I don't know what I shall say to father.'' I told Mrs. Parker. \" Tefl him the truth— the glorious truth ! \" \"It will break his heart.\" \"A great man once said that to make ome- lettes you must break eggs. Great revolutions are not brought about with- out breaking hearts.\" It was all very well for her to talk like that, but I noticed that she had not got her- s e 1 f locked up, though her hat was all on one side and her clothes any- how. When I had got rid of her, which I did as soon as ever I could, Eliza came to me in the hall. She asked me in a whisper :— \" Where is Mrs. Pil- beam, miss ? \" \" Eliza, mother's got herself locked up.\" \" Oh, dear, goodness gracious me, whatever shall we do ? \" I could not tell her. Father's voice came to me over the banisters. \" Adelaide, is that your mother ? \" \"No, father.\" \" Who was it, then ? \" \" It was Mrs. Parker.\" \" What was that woman Adelaide, come up here.\" doing here ? HE SAT DOWN ON A CHAIR SUUDt.NLY AS IK HE HAD NOT MEANT TO.\" I went up there in my dressing-gowa Father was in his shirt and trousers. He had

432 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \" Oh, father ! \" I know it was not heroic, but I hid my face against the door, and I cried. Father was behind; I felt his eyes going right through me. \" Adelaide, tell me where your mother is.\" He said it in such a tone that I felt that I had to tell him. Besides, he would have to be told some time. \" Father, mother has got herself locked up.'' He looked at me, and he said nothing. He sat down on a chair suddenly as if he had not meant to, and such an expression came on his face that I felt as if I had been guilty of a crime for which he was being punished. Those were the most trying moments I have ever known. I could not speak, and apparently he could not. All we could do was just to keep still. There was the sound of a ring and a knock at the street door. Father heard. He looke 1 up, and he said :— \" Is that the Bissetts ? \" He glanced at the clock which he kept on a shelf. \" It wants a quarter to eight. The Bissetts are always early.\" Somehow it seemed so dreadful that he should talk like that at such a moment, that I felt worse than ever. Mr. Bissett was a business friend of father's—I believe a very good friend—but mother did not like him or Mrs. Bissett. Their views did not agree. And the fact that George was in Mr. Bissett's office made it very difficult for me. Presently father got up from his chair with a perceptible effort, and he said :— \" Adelaide, do you mind tying my bow ? \" That brought me to with a start. I do not tie dress-ties so well as mother does, but I did it as well as I could. Eliza came while I was doing it, and told us that Mr. and Mrs. Bissett had arrived. \" Be as quick as you can,\" said father, \" and be civil to them—if you don't object to being civil to my guests.\" He knew I didn't. Another time I would have told him so, but there was something about him then which made it clear to me that he wanted to have as little said to him as possible. Just as I was going out of the room he said :— \" By the way, where's Bella ? \" Though I had been expecting the question, I did not know what to answer. He saw my hesitation. \" What's the matter with her ? She hasn't got herself locked up? \" \"No, father.\" \" Then where is she ? In the house ? \" \" She and mother had a few words this morning. When mother said that she was going out to—to break windows, Bella said that if she did she would go out of the house and never come back to it again.\" \" She ought not to have used such language to your mother.\" \" No, father, but she did. There—there was a scene.\"

FOR THE CAUSE. 433 be down in a moment. But we have had rather an agitated time.\" \" Is Mrs. Pilbeam not well ?\" Mrs. Bissett asked the question as she offered me a fish-like hand. \" I—I think she's fairly well, thank you.\" \" You think, my dear ? Your own mother —don't you know ? \" \" She was quite well when I saw her last.\" \" When you saw her last ? Is not Mrs. Pilbeam upstairs ? \" \" No, she's not upstairs.\" Mrs. Bissett glanced at her husband. \" Does not Mrs. Pilbeam expect us ? \" \" She—she knew that you were coming.\" \" Your manner is very strange, my dear. Where is your mother ? \" \" She's at Bow Street police-station.\" \" Where ? \" \" She's got herself locked up.\" Mrs. Bissett rose from her seat. She is very large ; considering how large, she got out of that armchair quite quickly. When she was up she drew a great breath like a gasp, she looked at me, and she looked at her husband. \" Augustus, do you hear ? Mrs. Pilbeam, our hostess—as her daughter rather oddly puts it—has got herself locked up.\" Mr. Bissett, who was a smallish man, put his hands into his trousers pockets, got up on to his toes, and went back on to his heels. \" So—no offence, Miss Adelaide—your mother has done something besides talk at last.\" His wife looked shocked. \" Augustus, don't talk like that. Remem- ber the relationship between Mrs. Pilbeam and this poor child.\" \" You did not get yourself locked up ? \" Mr. Bissett, ignoring his wife, made this , remark to me. The way he said it put my back up. \" I meant to.\" \" My dear Adelaide ! \" This was his wife. \" But you didn't see a window big enough —or hadn't you a stone, or a brick, or what- ever it is they do it with ? \" This was her husband. \" It was the other way about. I couldn't find one small enough. It's not the size of the window I care about; it's the principle.\" \"Hear, heart' \" Augustus, will you oblige me by desisting ? I suppose, my dear, that in the circum- stances we ought not to stop, and we won't. Vol. xlv. - - Augustus, we had better go, though it is rather unfortunate, since I have let our cook go out, and I don't know what we shall do about dinner.\" \" Dinner is waiting for you here, Mrs. Bissett. It is not yet quite eight.\" \" Has your father gone to see your mother ? \"

434 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. dangers to society. Owing to your mother's influence, Miss Pilbeam, Mrs. Hobden has fallen into the hands of the police.\" At that moment father came into the room. Mr. Hobden assailed him. \" Pilbeam, that woman whom you call your wife has been haunting my house like a fatal shadow. In the hands of such a fire- brand as Mrs. Pilbeam my poor wife is as weak as water. In which metropolitan police- station she is incarcerated at this moment I don't know, but she's in one of them. That's your wife, sir—that's your wife ! \" He actually waved his top hat in father's face. We had a terrible business with Mr. Hobden. Finally father had to take him into his study and have it out with him there. Before they went Mr. Blake arrived, and his sister Janet. As father was leaving the room with Mr. Hobden he whispered to me :— \" Don't wait. I'll get rid of Hobden as soon as I can. Let these people have their food.\" As soon as father was out of the room Mrs. Bissett asked, with what I call one of her malicious smiles :— \" What time did you say dinner was, Adelaide ? \" and she glanced at the clock. Mr. Bissett looked at his watch. \" I think we'd better go and get a chop somewhere. Pilbeam's domestic arrange- ments seem to be a little disorganized.\" This is what he said. \" Has anything serious happened ?\" inquired Miss Blake, in a sort of funereal whisper. Before Mrs. Bissett could reply I rang the bell. \" Is dinner ready ? \" I asked Eliza, who appeared in the doorway. \" Dinner's been waiting this ever so long, miss, only cook didn't quite know whether the master was ready.\" \" We are quite ready, Eliza.\" \" It seems rather odd,\" observed Mrs. Bissett, as we were taking our places at table, \" to sit down to dinner with neither the host nor the hostess present.\" \" Is Mrs. Pilbeam ill ? \" asked Miss Blake. \" So far as I know she is quite well.\" \" Is she absent ? \" I did not want to have to explain the situa- tion to each person individually, but obviously I could not leave sandy-haired Janet—I can't bear Janet Blake—under an entirely wrong impression, so I had to tell the story all over again. The Blakes were like living figures of exclamation, Janet was positively tremb- ling. Her brother was so amazed that he did not notice the plate of soup which Eliza placed in front of him. When Eliza, per- ceiving the impression made upon the party, hurried out of the room with a handkerchief to her eyes, it was almost more than I could stand. Whatever they might pretend at the beginning, before they had been talking very long, they seemed to have forgotten that the

FOR THE CAUSE. 435 \" Adelaide, I must either come in to you, or you must come out to me.\" \" I'll come down and open the front door if you'll go round.\" \" I daren't. Do you think I should be here if I dare ? I got over the wall at the end.\" \" Louisa, whatever for ? \" At the back of our garden is a common. The idea of Louisa Twynham stealing across the common in the darkness, and then struggling to climb over our wall, struck me as so comical that I very nearly smiled. \" Come down to me,\" she cried. \" Oh, do come down ! I daren't come into the house.\" I slipped on a big coat, and down I went, sneaking to the front door, round the side of the house to the garden at the back. Directly I got there someone shrieked. It was Louisa. \" What's the matter with you ? \" I asked. \" What did you do that for ? \" \" Oh ! \" she gasped, \" I thought it was the police.\" \" The police ? \" I was standing close to her. She was clinging with both hands to my right arm. I could feel her trembling. \" How could you possibly mistake me for the police ? \" \" I've got to that state I could mistake anything for the police. They seem to be all round me ; I can see a policeman in every shadow. I've been running away from them for hours.\" \" Louisa! \" \" It's perfectly true ; they've been chasing me all over London.\" \" Have you- \" I did not finish my whispered question, but she understood. She clung tighter, and shook so that I wondered if it were possible for her to shake herself to pieces. Her intention, perhaps, was to speak in a whisper which would be audible to me alone, but her emotion was so strong that I believe you could have heard what she said three gardens off. \" I have—I've broken two.\" \" Two windows ? \" \" And I hit a policeman.\" \" Louisa ! \" \" I never meant to. I really didn't mean to break even one, but when Clara Mooney said, ' Don't be a craven,' with the iron end of my stick I hit the window, and I was so frightened by the crack it made—it went all to splinters—that in jumping right round I hit another, and that went with a more awful crash than the first. I had brought out my brother's heavy alpenstock. I had no idea that it would break big plate-glass windows like it did. People came running out of the shop, people came from all direc- tions, and there was a policeman standing right in front of me, and he put out his hand as if to take me by the shoulder, so that, without the least meaning to do it, I gave him one on the nose. I hit him so hard,

436 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \" Have you been home ? \" \" I daren't. The police are probably look- ing for me all over the house.\" \" Do they know your address ? \" \" I don't see how they can. But, all the same, I dare not go home. Suppose a police- man is waiting for me on the doorstep ? \" as I raised my hand to ring. \" Oh, Adelaide, I daren't come into the house. Suppose your father opens the door ? \" \" Father doesn't generally open the door. Besides, he has friends to dinner.\" \" Friends to dinner, and you ask me to come into the house ? \" 'I NEVKR KAN SO FAST IN MY LIFE—AND I HAD ON MY TIGHTEST SKIRT.\" \" You'd better come indoors. I'll take you up to my room. What you want is rest and quiet.\" \" Oh, I do.\" I tried the back door, and that was locked. Then I took her round to the front door, and that was shut. \" What are you going to do ? \" she asked, Before she could finish Eliza opened the door. Louisa tried to dart away, but I held on. I pushed her through the door. When Eliza saw Louisa her face was eloquent. \" If it isn't Miss Twynham ! \" she ex- claimed. \" My goodness ! whatever have you been doing to yourself, miss ? \" I answered, \" Miss Twynham's all right,

FOR THE CAUSE. 43\" Eliza. Are they still in the dining room ? \" Eliza nodded. \" Miss Twynham is tired; she wants to be quiet.\" I got Louisa up the stairs somehow. She stopped on every tread, as if she thought a policeman might be just in front or just behind. When the door of a room opened, she shrieked and put her arms about my neck. Louisa Twynham had always declared to me that she did not know what nerves were. She knew then. When I got her into my bed- room she gasped : \" Lock the door.\" \" No one will come in here, my dear Louisa, and if anyone does they won't hurt you.\" \" But suppose \" \" Suppose nothing.\" Just then someone did tap at.the door. She gave a shriek, and before I could stop her she rushed across the room and dropped down on the other side of my bed. \" I think,\" I observed, \" you'll find it's Eliza bringing you something to eat and drink.\" It was Eliza, with a tray. \" Where's Miss Twynham ? \" she asked, when she perceived that, so far as she could see, the room was empty. I gave her what I meant to be a significant glance. I don't know if she understood, but she put down the tray and went softly out. She could hardly have helped seeing that there was something unusual sticking up the other side of my bed. When the door was closed Louisa raised her head a little higher, so that all of it was visible. Her hat had come right off—I expect she had given it such a jerk as she went down on to the floor. You could see the pads through her hair. It seemed incredible that she could be Louisa Twynham. I had scarcely got her on to a chair, and induced her to try to eat and drink something, when there came another tapping. She started up so awkwardly that it was a miracle that she did not knock'the table on which the tray was right over. She made another dart towards the other side of the bed, but I managed to get hold of her just in time. \" Louisa, don't be an idiot! It's only Eliza.\" It was Eliza—with a look on her face which 1 was beginning to know only too well. \" Miss Adelaide, there's Mr. Mitchell down- stairs, and he wants to see you.\" She spoke as if there was something terrible about my George, and I confess that I myself felt as if I were going at the knees. \" Does there—does there seem anything strange about him, Eliza ? \" \" Well, miss, there dpes. His manner's that solemn, and when I said ' Good evening, sir,' he never spoke a word. He said, most unlike himself, ' Tell Miss Adelaide that I must see her at once. You understand, at once. Is there anyone in the little room ? ' Without waiting for me to tell him, he walked straight to the little room, and he stopped at the door, and he said, ' Be so good, Eliza, as to go instantly to Miss Adelaide and tell her

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. the way he said \" at present \"—as if a police- man might be expected to come for me at any moment. \" I am not going to be in any of them, thank you, George ! \" \"But your mother is!\" He spoke in a tone of voice which was really funereal. All I could manage, in face of his gloom, was a silly repetition of my previously vapid remark :— \" Oh, George ! \" \" I have seen your mother.\" I said, \" Oh, George,\" in quite a different tone of voice, and I added, \" Where is she ? \" \" She telephoned to me.\" \" Mother did ? \" He fixed me with a stony sort of glance which made me feel somehow that there was more in some men than I had thought. When he looked at me like that he seemed to be the concentration of masculine strength. The way in which he repeated himself, with additions, smacked of something which was almost great. \" Your mother telephoned to me at the office. I asked,' Who's there ? ' She replied, ' It's me.' I knew the voice, though she mentioned no name. She went on to say, ' I'm at Bow Street police station. There are about two hundred other women who want the telephone, so I haven't a moment to spare. Come to me at once.' The voice ceased. I do not know if she was discon- nected ; she certainly had not had her legal amount of time. I went.\" The way in which he uttered those last two words suggested something which was nearly heroic. I do not think I was ever before so much moved. \" You went to Bow Street police-station ? \" \" I did. A lamentable state of things I found there—mothers and wives, sisters and daughters, most of them in a whirl of agitation which beggars description. I felt for the policemen who were supposed to have them in charge. I found your mother. She was half beside herself with indignation. I found it difficult to understand what was the cause of it.\" \" I should think,\" I told him, \" that being locked up in a police-station was enough to make anybody indignant.\" \" So far as I could judge, that did not seem to be the common opinion. Most of the women seemed to be glorying in the fact that they were there. With your mother that was not the case ; she was very angry.\" \" Had the police used her roughly ? \" \" Judging from her appearance, they had probably not handled her too gently. But that was not the cause of her indignation.\" \" What was ? \" \" She was angry with Mrs. Parker.\" \" But, George, why ? It was Mrs. Parker who came and told me she was locked up. I should never have known if it had not been for Mrs. Parker.\" \" And had it not been for Mrs. Parker

FOR THE CAUSE.' 439 Mrs. Pilbeam was not sure. Mrs. Parker's conduct was so extraordinary that she was not able to ascertain. Mrs. Pilbeam assures \" You're not serious, George ? \" He sounded and he looked as if he were serious, but it did seem incredible. \" I can assure you that your mother was serious enough — with an intense seriousness which I am wholly unable to imitate.\" I ' MOTHERS AND WIVES, SISTERS AND DAUGHTERS, MOST OF THEM IN A WHIRL OF AGITATION WHICH BEGGARS DESCRIPTION.\" me that before she could utter a word Mrs. Parker threw her arms about her in the open street and exclaimed, almost at the top of her voice, ' Oh, Mrs. Pilbeam, what have you done ? You've broken the biggest window in the whole of the Strand !' \" knew what he meant by \" intense serious- ness.\" I must admit that mother has a temper—as father has discovered. \" She assured me that at first she thought that Mrs. Parker had all at once gone mad, but thinking it over since she had come to trr

44° THE STRAND MAGAZINE. conclusion that Mrs. Parker regretted what she did the instant it was done, and was so overcome by a sudden consciousness of what the consequences might be that practically for the moment she did lose her senses and, yielding to a wild instinct of self-preservation, actually attributed what she had done to your mother.\" \" But, George, can Mrs. Parker be a thing like that ? \" \" Your mother says she can, and your mother says she is. When people came'out of the shop, and a crowd began to collect, Mrs. Parker kept on repeating, as if she really had lost her wits, ' Oh, Mrs. Pilbeam, you've broken the biggest window in the Strand !' Mrs. Pilbeam, completely taken aback, lost her own wits, as in the circumstances it seems to me she very easily might have done, and when a policeman put his hand upon her shoulder, and said something she did not catch, she admits that she might have done something which might have been inter- preted as an attempt to resist arrest. It is quite clear that she did not go quietly— or at least not so quietly as she might have done—to Bow Street police-station. Her situation appears to me to be—I will not say droll, because that might seem unfeeling— I will say peculiar. I heard her say—you know when I did ; it had been an awful scene. When mother told George that if she had been a man she would have dropped him out of the window I thought I had lost him for ever. \" The other night, as you are aware, she told me in your presence that she would not rest easy until she had joined her sisters in captivity. I did not quite catch her meaning, because until then I had not known that she had any ' sisters in captivity,' but I had a general idea.. I took it that she meant to say that she intended to get herself locked up, and would stick at nothing which would result in her being landed in a prison cell. But she proposed to get there as the result of her own action, not because of what someone else had done. The idea that she should be locked up, not because she broke a window, but because Mrs. Parker broke one —that idea did not commend itself to her at all.\" \" So I should think. Mrs. Parker must be a perfect cat. I always did distrust that woman. And to think of her coming here in that brazen fashion to tell me about mother getting herself locked up.\" \" Your mother has got herself locked up.\" \" But, George, don't make fun of it. Mother oughtn't to be locked up if she's innocent.\" \" That's a point on which I'm not quite clear.\" \" George ! \" \" I have no wish to say anything to hurt your feelings, Adelaide, but I am of opinion that your mother probably would have broken a window if Mrs. Parker had not got there first.\" \" But that's not justice.\"

FOR THE CAUSE. 441 it. I could hear Eliza running up the kitchen stairs. As 1 was taking down the receiver father looked out of the drawing-room. \" Who is it ? \" he asked, as I was putting the receiver to my ear. \" I'll tell you, father, when I know.\" I replied to the call. \" Yes, who is it ? \" A voice came back. \" Is that Mr. Pil- beam's ? \" \" Yes—who are you ? \" \" Is that you, Adelaide ? \" Then I knew the voice. \" Bella, is that you ? \" \" What's that ? \"\" asked father. \" Is that Bella speaking ? \" \" One moment, father: I'm trying to hear what she says.\" Bella's voice was very audible. Somehow it always is ; she always speaks so clearly. One could tell from the quiet way in which she went on talking that she was oblivious of the fact that she was inflicting on me a series of shocks. \" I'm at Bow Street police-station. I've been bailing mother out—or rather, Frederick has been bailing her out.\" Frederick Gibbs is the name of the man to whom Bella is engaged to be married. \" Frederick and I are bringing her home. I don't know what state she'll be in when we arrive. I'm telephoning to tell you not to make a fuss. Tell father to say nothing ; he'd better not appear. I'm going to pack her straight off to bed. You understand ? \" I did. but father wanted to understand. He was a little difficult. \" Is that Bella talking ? What does she want ? Give me the receiver.\" \" I think she's finished, father. She's nailed mother out.\" \" Bailed her out—Bella has ? \" I was conscious that, father having left the drawing-room door open, the Bissetts rmd the Blakes were listening to the proceed- ings with every appearance of interest, and there was George standing in the doorway of the little room. In the circumstances I found it a little difficult to explain to father, especially as he was so impatient. \" Why in the name of goodness, girl, can't you speak ? What do you mean by saying that Bella has bailed your mother out ? A mere chit of a girl like that! Surely no policeman in this world would accept her as a surety.\" He stamped his foot. \" Will you tell me what Bella said ? \" \" I'm trying to, father, if you'll let me. Bella and Frederick have bailed her out between them. I suppose it's really Frederick.\" Vol. xlv.-45. \" Of course it's Frederick.\" \" Father, mother's done nothing.\" '\" Done nothing ? What do you mean ? \" \" It seems that it was Mrs. Parker who broke the window.\" \" Broke what window ? There were more windows broken than one. Didn't your mother break a window ? \"

442 THE STRAXD MAGAZINE. '' You struck it with something you took out of your bag.\" \" With something I had in my bag ! Here is my bag.\" She held out the article in question. \" There was nothing in it then which is not in it now. Here's my handker- chief, a packet of peppermint lozenges, a rase of pins, my purse, and a powder puff. Nothing else has been in my bag the whole of this day. You say I took one of them out \" I NKVER TOUCI1KI) THE WINDOW.\" of my bag and struck the window—and broke it a huge, solid, plate glass window. Which was it ? \" Mrs. Parker held out towards mother ;: doubtful-looking handkerchief, a small bag of whitey-brown paper, a tiny metal case, an old leather purse, and something in a little blue bag. \" With which of these,\" she demanded, ' could I break a plate glass window ? \" \" If you didn't, who did ? \" \" You can ask me that ? \" \" It was I who broke the window ! \" The voice which spoke came from the stair- case. I did not require to look round to know whose voice it was. When I did, there was • Louisa Twynham standing at the top of the first flight. While we stared, she came down them. She addressed herself to mother and Mrs. Parker. I think her remarks astonished them ; I know they did us. \" I saw you both standing in front of the tobacco shop. I saw that neither of you had the courage to do what you had talked so much about. I saw that you were both on the point of sneaking away. Although you did not know it—you were in such a state of nerves that you didn't know anything—I was close behind you. I threw a bullet which went right between you,and it was that which broke the window. I could have shrieked when I saw- that each of you though t the other had done it ; that showed the state you were in. The win- dow of that tobacco shop was the first one I broke.. I broke six more before I'd fin ished, making seven in all. When I told you, Ade- laide, that I had only broken two, I told a lie. I told you that the police had been chasing me all over London. That was true. Somehow they

The Case of tke Plain M an. ;y ARNOLD BENNETT. Illustrated by Alfred Leete. IV. T. HE plain man is not always mature and successful, as I have hitherto regarded him. He may be unsuccessful in a worldly sense ; but from my present point of view I do not much care whether he is unsuccessful or successful in that sense. I know that plain men are seldom failures ; their very plainness saves them from the alarming picturesqueness of the abject failure. On the other hand. I care greatly whether the plain man is mature or immature, old or young. I should prefer to catch him young. But he is difficult to catch young. The fact is that, just as he is seldom a failure, so he is seldom young. He becomes plain only with\" years. In youth, even in the thirties, he has fanciful capricious qualities which prevent him from being classed with the average sagacious plain man. He slowly loses these inconvenient qualities, and develops into part Copyright, 1913, of the backbone of the nation. And then it is too late to tell him that he is not per- fect, simply because he has forgotten to cultivate the master quality of all qualities — namely, imagination. For imagination must be cultivated early, and it is just the quality that these admirable plain men lack. By imagination I mean the power to conceive oneself in a situation which one is not actually in ; for instance, in another person's place. It is among the sardonic humours of destiny that imagination, while positively dangerous in an ill-balanced mind and of the highest value in a well- balanced mind, is to be found rather in the former than in the latter. And anyhow, the quality is rare in Anglo-Saxon races, which are indeed both afraid and ashamed of it. And yet could the plain, the well-balanced Anulo-Saxon male acquire it, what a grand world we should live in ! The most important thing in the world would be transformed. The most important thing in the world is, ultimately, married life, and the chief practical use of the quality of imagination is to amelio- rate married life. But who in England or America (or elsewhere) thinks of it in that connection ? The plain man considers that imagination is all very well for poets and novelists. Blockhead ! Yes, despite my high esteem for him, I will apply to him the Johnsonian term of abuse. Blockhead ! Imagination is super-eminently for himself, and was beyond doubt invented by Providence in order that the plain man might chiefly exercise it in the plain, drudging dailiness of married life. The day cometh, if tardily, when lie will do so. by Arnold Bennett.

444 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. II. THESK reflections have surged up in my brain as I contemplate the recent case of my acquaintance, Mr. Omicron, and they are preliminary to a study of that interesting case. Scarce a week ago Omicron was sitting in the Omicron drawing-room alone with Mrs. Omicron. It was an average Omicron evening. Omicron is aged thirty- two. He is neither success- ful nor unsuccessful, and no human perspicacity can say whether twenty years hence he will be successful or unsuccessful. But any- body can see that he is' already on the way to be a plain, well-balanced man. Somewhat earlier than usual he is losing the fanciful capriciousqualities and settling down into the stiff backbone of the nation. Conversation was not abundant. Said Mrs. Omicron sud- denly, with an ingratiating accent:— \" What about that ring that I was to have ? \" There was a pause, in which every muscle of the man's body, and especi- ally the facial muscles, and every secret fibre of his soul, perceptibly stiffened. And then Omicron answered, curtly, rebut tingly, reprovingly, snap- pishly, finishingly :— \" I don't know.\" And took up his news- paper, whose fragile crack ling wall defended him from attack every bit as well as a screen of twelve- inch armour-plating. The subject was dropped. It had endured about ten seconds. But those ten seconds marked an epoch in Omicron's career as a husband—and he knew it not. He knew it not, but the whole of his conjugal future had hung evenly in the balance during those ten seconds, and then slid slightly but def ini tely—to the wrong side.

THE CASE OF THE PLAIN MAN. 445 Nor was that all. The coffee had been thin, feeble, unin teresting. The feminine excuse for this last dia- bolic iniquity had been that the kitchen at the last moment had discovered itself to be short of coffee —an entirely commonplace episode. Yes, but it is out of commonplace episodes that martyrs are made, and Omicron had been made martyr. He. none else, was fully aware that evening that he was a martyr. And the woman had selected just that evening to raise the question of rings, gauds, futile ornamenta- tions ! He had said little. But he had stood for the universal husband, and in Mrs. Omicron he saw the universal wife. III. His reflections ran somewhat thus:— \"Sure1va ExrrsK FOR -IHIS LAST HAI> BKEN THAT TIIK MOMENT HAD DIS- T.R SHORT OF COI-TEE.'\" simple matter to keep enough coffee in the house ! A schoolgirl could do it ! And yet they let them- selves run short of coffee ! I ask for nothing out of the way. I make no inordinate demands on the household. But I do like good coffee. And I can't have it ! Strange ! As for that mutton—one would think there was no clock in the kitchen. One would think that nobody- had ever cooked a leg of mutton before. How many legs of mutton have they cooked between them in their lives ? Scores ; hundreds ; I dare say thou- sands. And yet it

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. the lack of tact that annoys me. I am an ill-used man. All husbands are ill-used men. The whole system wants altering. However, I must keep my end up. And I will keep my end up. Ring, indeed ! No tact ! \" He fostered a secret fury. And he enjoyed fostering it. There was exaggeration in these thoughts, which, he would admit next day, \" -.HK ONLY THINKS OF il'KMJINC,, AM) TITIVATING HERSKI.F.\" were possibly too sweeping in their scope. Hut he would maintain the essential truth of them. He was not really and effec- tively furious against Mrs. Omicron ; he did not, as a fact, class her with forgers and drunken chauffeurs ; indeed, the fellow loved her in his fashion. But he did pass a mature judgment against her. He did wrap up his grudge in cotton-wool and put it in a drawer and examine it with perverse pleasure now and then. He did increase that secretion ,-^ of poison which weakens the social liealth of nine hun- dred and ninety-nine in a thousand mar- ried lives—however delightful they may be. He did render more permanent a noxious habit of mind. He did appre- ciably and doubly and finally impair the conjugal happi- ness—for it must not be forgotten that in creating a grievance for himself he also gave his wife a grievance. He did, in fine, contribute to the general mass of misunders t a n d i n g between sex and sex. If he is reading this, as he assuredly is, Mr. Omicron will up and e x- claim :— \" My wife a grievance! Absurd ! The facts are incon- trovertible. What grievance can she have ?\" The grievance that Mr. Omi- cron, becoming every day more and more the plain man, is not exercising imagi - nation in the very

THE C.iSE OF THE PLAIN MAN. 4-47 reply that a home is a home. You have always had a home. You were born in one. With luck you will die in one. And you have never regarded a home as anything but a home. Your leading idea has ever been that a home is emphatically not an office nor a manufactory. But suppose you were to unscale your eyes—that is to say, use your imagination—and try to see that a home, in addition to being a home, is an office and manufactory for the supply of light, warmth, cleanliness, ease, and food to a given number of people ? Suppose you were to allow it to occur to you that a home emphatically is an organization similar to an office and manu- factory—and an extremely complicated and delicate one, with many diverse departments, functioning under extremely difficult con- ditions ? For thus it in truth is. Could you once accomplish this feat of the imaginative faculty, you would never again say, with that disdainful accent of yours : \" Mrs. Omicron has nothing in the world to do but run the house.\" For really it would be just as clever for her to say : '' Mr. Omicron has nothing in the world to do but run the office.\" I admit heartily that Mrs. Omicron is not perfect. She ought to be, of course ; but she, alas ! falls short of the ideal. Yet in some details she can and does show the way to that archangel, her husband. When her office and manufactory goes wrong, you, Mr. Omicron. are righteously indignant and superior. You majestically wonder that with four women in the house, etc., etc. But when you come home and complain that things are askew in your masculine establish- ment, and that a period of economy must set in, does she say to you with scorn : \" Don't dare to mention coffee to-night. I really wonder that with fourteen (or a hundred and forty) grown men in your establishment you cannot produce an ample and regular in- come \" ? No; she makes the best of it. She is sympathetic. And you, Mr. Omicron, would be excessively startled and wounded if she were not sympathetic. Put your imagination to work, and you will see how interesting are these comparisons. IV. SHE is an amateur at her business, you say. Well, perhaps she is. But who brought her up to be an amateur ? Are you not content to carry on the ancient tradition ? As you meditate, and you often do meditate, upon that infant daughter of yours now sleeping in her cot, do you dream of giving her a scientific education in housekeeping, or do you dream of endowing her with the charms that music and foreign languages and physical grace can offer ? Do you in your mind's eye see her cannily choosing \"beef at the butcher's, or shining for your pleasure in the drawing-room ? And then Mrs. Omicron is, perhaps, not so much of an amateur as you assume. People learn by practice. Is there any reason in human nature why a complex machine such

448 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. three hours for lunch and your dictation of correspondence is thereby postponed. Only there is no late-posting fee in Mrs. Omicron's world. If Mrs. Omicron flung twopence at you when you came home, and informed you that dinner would be forty minutes late and that she was paying the fee, what, Mr. Omicron, would be your state of mind ? And your imagination, now very alert, will carry you even farther than this, Mr. Omicron, and disclose to you still more fearful difficulties which Mrs. Omicron has to face in the management of her office or manufactory. Her staff is uneducated, less educated even than yours. And her staff is universally characterized by certain peculiar ties uf mentality. For example, her staff will never, never, never, come and say to her: \" Please, ma'am, there is only enough coffee left for two days.\" No ! Her staff will placidly wait forty- eight hours, and then come at seven p.m. and say : \" Please ma'am, there isn't enough coffee— ' And worse ! You, Mr. Omicron, can sav roundly to a clerk : \"A WEEK LATER AN EXCITED CABLE ARRIVES FROM OVERSEAS.\" again I shall fling you into the street.\" You are aware, and he is aware, that a hundred clerks are waiting to take his place. On the other hand a hundred mistresses are waiting to take the place of Mrs. Omicron with regard to her cook. Mrs. Omicron has to do as best she can. She has to speak softly and to temper discipline, because the supply of domestic servants is un- equal to the demand. And there is still worse. The worst of all, the supreme disadvantage under which Mrs. Omicron suffers, is\"that most of her errors, lapses, crimes, directly affect a man in the stomach, and the man is a hungry man. Mr. Omicron, your imagination, now \" Look here, if this occurs \" HB CARRIES THE LEG OF MUTTON, AND HE CARRIES ALSO, THOUGH HK KNOWS IT .NOT NOR CARES, THE REPUTATION AND HAPPINESS OK MRS. O.MICRO.N.\"

THE CASE OF THE PLAIN MAN. 449 feverishly active, will thus demon- strate to you that your wife's earthly lot is not the velvet couch that you had unimagina- tivelyassumed it to be, and that indeed, you would not change places with her for a hundred thou- sand a year. Your attitude towards her human 1 i m i- tations will be modified, and the general mass of mis- understanding between sex and sex will tend to diminish. (And if even yet your atti- t u d e is not modified, let your imagina- tion dwell for a few instants on the extraordinary number of bad and expensive hotels with which you are acquainted—managed, not by amateurish women, but by professional men. And on the obstinate mismanagement of the commis- sariat of your own club—of which you are continually complaining to members of the house-committee.) V. I PASS to another aspect of Mr. Omicron's' private reflections consequent upon Mrs. Omicron's dreadful failure of tact in asking him about the ring after the mutton had proved to be underdone and the coffee to be inadequate. \" She only thinks of spending,\" reflected Mr. Omicron, resentfully. A more or less true reflection, no doubt, but there would have been a different colour to it if Mr. Omicron had exercised the greatest of his faculties. Suppose you were to unscale your eyes, Mr. Omicron—that is to say, use your imagination—and try to see that so far 1 PLEASE, MA'AM, THERE ISN'T ENOUGH COFFEE \" as finance is concerned your wife's chief and proper occupation in life is to spend. Con- ceive what you would say if she announced one morning : \" Henry, I am sick of spending. 1 am going out into the world to earn.\" Can you not hear yourself employing a classic phrase about \" the woman's sphere \" ? In

45° THE STRAND MAGAZINE. was open to you in the Hottentot style to decree that your wife should do the earning while you did the spending. But for some mysterious reason this arrangement did not appeal to you, and you accordingly go forth daily to the office and return therefrom with money. The theory of your daily excursion is firmly based in the inherent nature of things. The theory is the fundamental cosmic one that money is made in order that money may be spent—either at once or later. Even the miser conforms to this theory, for he only saves in obedience to the argument that the need of spending in the future may be more imperious than is the need of spending at the moment. The whole of your own personal activity is rapacious and stingy money-grubber, so the tendency to spend may grow on her. One has known instances. A check-action must be occasionally employed. Agreed! But. Mr. Omicron, you should choose a time and a tone for employing it other than you chose on this evening that I have described. A man who mixes up jewelled rings with underdone mutton and feeble coffee is a clumsy man. Exercise your imagination to put yourself in the place of Mrs. Omicron. and you will perceive that she is constantly in the highly- delicate difficulty of having to ask for money, or at any rate of having to suggest or insinuate that money should be given to her. It is her right and even her duty to ask for money, but the foolish, illogical creature—like most \"YOU WERE ATTRACTED TO HER, AMI WHAT ATTRACTED VOL' WAS A MYSTERIOUS, NKVER-TO-BB-DEFINEU QUALITY ABOUT HER.\" a mere preliminary to the activity of Mrs. Omicron. Without hers, yours would be absurd, ridiculous, futile, supremely silly. By spending she completes and justifies your labour ; she crowns your life by spending. You married her so that she might spend. You wanted someone to spend, and it was understood that she should fill the situation. She was brought up to spend, and you knew that she was brought up to spend. Spending is her vocation. And yet you turn round on her and complain, \" She only thinks of spending.\" \" Yes,\" you say, \" but there is such a thing as moderation.\" There is ; I admit it. The word \" extravagance \" is no idle word in the English language. It describes a quality which exists. Let it be an axiom that Mrs. Omicrcn is human. Just as the tendency to get may grow on you, until you become a women, even those with generous and polite husbands—regards the process as a little humiliating for herself. You, Mr. Omicron, have perhaps never asked for money. But your imagination will probably be able to make you feel how it feels to ask for money. A woman whose business in life it is to spend money which she does not and cannot earn may sometimes have to face a refusal when she asks for money. But there is one thing from which she ought to be absolutely and eternally safe—and that is a snub.

THE CASE OF THE PLAIN MAN. 45* he must add \" titivating herself.\" He would admit, of course, that she did as a fact sometimes think of other matters, but still he would uphold the gravamen of his charge. And yet—excellent Omicron !—you have hut to look the truth in the face—as a plain rommonsense man will—and to use your imagination, in order to perceive that there really is no gravamen in the charge. Why did you insist on marrying Mrs. Omicron ? She had the reputation of being a good housekeeper (as girls go) ; she was a serious girl, kind- hearted, of irre- proachable family, having agreeable financial expecta- tions, clever, well- educated, good-tem- pered pretty. But the truth is that you married her for none of these attributes. You married her because you were attracted to her; and what attracted you was a mysterious, never- to-be- defined quality about her —an effluence, an emanation, a lurk- ing radiance, an entirely enigmatic charm. In the end \" charm\" is the one word that even roughly indicates that element in her personality which caused you to lose your head about her. A similar phenomenon is to be ob- served in all marriages of inclination. A similar phenomenon is at the bottom of most social movements. Why, the Men's League for Women's Suffrage itself certainly came into being through the strange workings of that same phenomenon ! You married Mrs. Omicron doubtless because she was \" suitable.\" but her \" suitability,\" for you, consisted in the way she breathed, the way she crossed a room, a transient gesture, a vibration in her voice, a blush, a glance, the curve of an arm—nothing, nothing—and yet everything ! You may condescend towards this quality of hers, Mr. Omicron—you may try to dismiss it as \" feminine charm,\" and have done with it. But you cannot have done with it. And

Sulphurs National. By TALBOT MUNDY. Illustrated by Cyrus Cuneo, R.I. I. HAVE!\" said the Honour- able William Allison. And he closed his lips so tightly when he had said it, and his merry face looked so comi- cally sorry, that Gladys Powers had no need to guess what the answer was. \" Tell me all about it.\" she said, promptly. She smiled back at him. but there was concern written in her big, dark eyes. \" First of all, what did you say ? \" \" Me ? ' Oh, I told him I should like to marry you, don't you know, and all that kind of thing—said you were a charming girl, and so on, and that I thought we'd hit it off together like the people in a book.\"' She was trembling on the very verge of laughter, and drew out her handkerchief to hide it from him. \" Go on ; what did he do ? \" \" Sat down hard, and gasped, and glared at me.\" \" I can see him doing it.\" she said. \" What did he say when he'd finished glaring ? \" \" He never left off glaring once. But he said he'd no time for hereditary boneheads— dashed if I know what a bonehead is exactly, but I'll bet it's something rude—and that he wouldn't let his daughter marry one on any terms. Said there were boneheads enough in the States, without coming across the water to find one.\" \" V\\ hat did you say to that ? \" \" I didn't say anything. He added a lot of tommy-rot about the idea of an aristo- cracy being all wrong anyhow: and he said that there wasn't an aristocrat that he'd ever met that could make enough money to keep a girl of spirit in candy and cigarettes. So I asked him whether he'd have liked me any better if I'd been a bricklayer.\" The dimples began to dance again at the idea of the Honourable William Allison laying bricks. Her eyes laughed at him above her handkerchief, and she dared not speak for fear of her voice betraying her amusement. She loved this lean, clean-looking Englishman very dearly; but love had not killed her sense of humour, and she was possessed by the American delusion that no Englishman can see a joke. So she played with her handker- chief, and nodded to him to continue. \" Most extraordinary thing, but the mention of bricks doesn't seem to agree with him at all. Made him positively savage. Almost thought he was goin.' to try to bite me.\" \" No, no, no ! Not bricks—bricklaying ! He made his money building, you know. He's been fighting the bricklayers' union all his life. He says that from first to last they've cost him fifteen million.\" \" Fifteen million what—pounds ? \" \" No—dollars.\" \" He must be most uncommonly oofy to spend that much money fightin' a lot of

SULPHUR' S NATIONAL. 453 \" Well, I asked him whether we couldn't come to some sort of terms. He said no. So I reminded him that as a business man —which he seemed so proud of callirig himself—he must realize that there's a wav me. Then I'll let Gladys do as she likes about it.' So I bowed myself out. He'd named his terms.\" Gladys Powers dug the point of her umbrella into the frozen February grass, and frowned. \"(JO AND MAKE TUN THOUSAND POUNDS WITHIN THE NEXT SIX MONTHS AND SHOW IT TO MB.\" of compromising everything. Then he said suddenly that if I'd prove to him that I'm not a bonehead he'd consider it. By the way, what the deuce is a bonehead ? \" \" A fool. Go on—what then ? \" \" I invited him to be a little more explicit. He said, ' Go and make ten thousand pounds within the next six months and show it to \" 1 call it mean of pa,\" she exclaimed, \" to talk to you that way. He's perfectly crazy to get into Society over here, and he hasn't been able to do it.\" \" Pretty cool of him, then, I call it. to talk the way he did about my bein' an aristocrat. He'd find himself in Society in a minute if he'd let you marry me.\"

454 THE STRASD MAGAZIXE. \" Oh ! If you could only get the better of him,\" she exclaimed, \" he'd think the world of you. Won't you try ? Do try ! Use all the brains you've got. I'm sure you'll be able to. if you try hard enough. It isn't that you're poor. He doesn't mind that; he wants me to marry a man with brains. Try, won't you ? \" \" I'll have a try,\" he said, in a low voice. \" Tell me, is he really keen on this idea of gettin' into Society ? \" \" He's crazy about it. He's crazy because he's failed.\" Bill Allison reflected again for about a minute. \" I don't see how that's goin' to help much,\" he said, more to himself than to Gladys Powers. \" Still \"—and he looked straight into her eyes, and she read resource there, and believed in him, and took courage—• \" I can but try. We'll see.\" II. AN hour later the Honourable William Allison strolled into one of the most exclusive clubs, and subsided gloomily into a deep arm- chair. When he considered that he was expected to pit his brains against those of Pushful Powers, the \"Construction King\" oi the United States, whose first extraordinary name so aptly suited him, the hopelessness of the situation was about the only phase of it that he could see. \" Halloa, Bill! \" said a pleasant voice beside him, and he started and looked round. \" You, Galloway ? Why the deuce didn't you speak before ? How long have you been here ? Were you here when I came in ? \" \" Thought I'd watch you, Bill. Dashed interestin', believe me. First time in my life that I ever saw you lookin' gloomy. Bill, you're in love !\" \" No. You're wrong, confound you ! \" \" You can't deceive me, Bill. There's only three things can make a man miserable—- women, money, and his liver. Your troubles don't amount to anything. Listen to my tale of woe. Trainin' stable all gone to the deuce, an' that brute Sulphur so savage that nobody can do a thing with him. Pity of it is that he's entered for the Grand National, and he could win it if only I could find a man to ride him. But I've got to sell him. My stable's been losin' me money for so long that I simply can't stave off my creditors for another week.\" \" Is Sulphur fit ? \" asked Allison. An idea seemed to have risen new-born behind his eyes, for they positively blazed as he leaned forward and looked keenly at Galloway. \" He's as fit as a fiddle now. He won't be. though, in a week's time. All he needs is gallopin', and I tell you I can't get a man to ride him.\" Bill Allison lay back in his chair again, with his tall hat tipped forward over his eyes. That idea of his seemed to be filtering in. His long, lean legs—one crossed over the

SULPHUR' $ XATIONAL. 455 Powers sat clown again, and the two men looked at each other in tense silence for about a minute—summing one another up. Each liked the appearance of the other. There was no gainsaying the rugged strength of the millionaire ; he looked like what he was—a born fighter, whom many victories had made self-confident. And Sammy Galloway, who looked the acme of good- nature, also looked honest. \" Let's hear all about it,\" said Mr Powers. \" What would you do, for instance ? \" he asked, after a moment. \" Win a classic race.\" \" Win a what ? \" \" Be the owner of a horse that wins the Grand National, for instance.\" \" I shouldn't know how to go about it.\" \" Exactly ! \" repeated Sammy. \" That's where I come in.\" \" Well—come in. Tell me.\" \" I own a horse that can win the National, and I've got to sell him. I'm broke, you understand.\" Powers got up again and began to pace the room. \" How do you know he can win the National ? \" he demanded, abruptly. \" How do you ever know in advance that you can put through one of your big business deals ? \" asked Sammy. \" That's different. It's my hand that puts 'em through. I succeed where another man would very likely fail. I know how.\" \" That's my case again,\" said Sammy, triumphantly. \" I could sell this horse for enough money to get me out of debt ; but the man who bought him couldn't win the National with him. He needs riding, and I've got the only man in England who can do it. He's a brute of a horse—savage as they make 'em—wants a real man on his back.\" \" Then you want me to buy your horse ? Is that what it all amounts to ? \" \" Not by a long way ! I'm offering to win the National with him for you, and I'm willing to be paid by results. That horse is worth about three thousand guineas as he stands ; they'd pay that price for him for the stud, and anyone you care to ask will confirm what I say. I'm asking you two thousand guineas for him—cash ; and in return for that amount I'll transfer him, engagements and all, into your name. If he doesn't win the National he's yours anyhow, and you'll be able to sell him again for enough to get back the two thousand—together with the ex- penses of my training stable, which I'll expect you to guarantee from now until the race comes off. If he wins, I get your cheque for ten thousand pounds immediately after the race.\" \" But is this business of winning the Grand National going to help me socially ? \" \" Believe me,\" said Sammy, darkly, \" there's positively nothing you could do that would help you more.\" Powers drew the stub of a pencil from his

456 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. Grand National horse, for they are betting very largely with men who know. Galloway, most immaculately dressed, leaned against the paddock railing, and talked through it to his friend Allison. Allison was overcoated from ears to heels. He looked thinner than when he and Sammy had talked together at the club, but the glow of health was on him, he seemed happy as a school-box-. \" What odds are they laying ? \" demanded Allison. \" Twenty to one.\" \" I don't wonder,\" said Allison, looking over his shoulder at Sulphur. The big red devil of a horse was being led round and round the paddock at what was intended to be a walk, blanketed until nothing of him was visible except his savage eye. that peeped out through a hole in his hood. As Allison spoke the brute snorted and squealed and snatched at his leading rein, and a pitched battle followed betxveen him and the man who led him. A series of eddies swirled in the watching crowd, as people moved away suddenly to avoid his heels. Above the buzz and clamour of the crowd came the raucous bellowing of a bookmaker. \" Twenties Sulphur ! Twenty to one Sul- phur ! \" But no one seemed anxious to bet on him. \" Have you got the money on ? \" asked Allison. \" Yes.\" \" The whole two thousand ? \" \" Every single penny of it at an average of txventies. Had to split it up with a score of bookies, here and in Lond. n.\" \" So we stand to win t'ortv thousand pounds. eh?\" \" We do—or else lose everything.\" \" Don't think of it. How did you keep old Powers out of the xvay ? \" \" He and Miss Powers xvere awfully keen to come into the paddock,\" said Sammy. \" But I told him it wouldn't do. I harped on the social string—reminded him what he'd bought the horse for—said I wanted his entrance on the. scene to be as dramatic as possible—asked him to wait until the race was over before showing up, and then lead in the winner. I told him it 'ud have a far bigger effect than if he wandered about the paddock now. He didn't like it a bit, but he gave in. He and Miss Powers are sitting in a box right in the middle of the grand stand, and they're both of 'em half frantic for the race to begin. I'd better go over to 'em now, and try to keep 'em quiet. So long ! Good luck\", Bill ! \" \" So long. Sammy ! Good luck ! \" As Sammy Galloway joined the little party in the box, Sulphur's price began to alter in the betting. \" Why, they're only laying fifteen to one against him now,\" said Gladys Powers. \" Listen. ] wonder why that is ?\"\" \" Dunno, I'm sure,\" said Sammy, taking the vacant chair between her and her father.

SULPH UR ' S XA TIONAL. 457 He was a picture of a horse. Anyone with half an eye could see that he was trained down to the last touch, and the rider who sat him so perfectly and coaxed and steadied him seemed as lithe and well-trained as the horse. He danced sideways all the way to the grand stand, and then his rider's long, lean legs straightened him at last, and held him straight, and he swept off at a canter towards the starting-post. \" That man's face seems strangely familiar,\" said Pushful Powers, staring through his field-glasses. Gladys Powers had thought the same thing. She, too, was watching closely through her glasses. \" Who did you say his jockey was ? \" she asked Sammy. \" Bill who ? \" \" Watch, Miss Powers. This'll be worth watching !\" \" It looked almost like -\" \" Oh, all men look pretty much alike in racing kit. Watch ! \" Every rider except! ig Sulphur's gave his horse a trial jump over the first fence on the course. But Sulphur was taken straight down to the starting-point. It seemed better to. the man who rode him to take the first jump blind than to let the horse have his head yet for so much as a second. He kept him by the starting-gate until the other horses came and lined up on either side of him. The start of a long race like the Grand National is a simple enough matter as a rule, for it makes very little difference if one horse does happen to be a foot or two in front of the rest. A yard in five miles is no handicap —at the beginning. The starter kept his eyes on Sulphur, who was kicking and fighting and rearing up in his best style. The moment that Sulphur's head was level with the barrier, and the other horses were in something like a line, he let them go. \" They're off ! \" roared the crowd. It is like the thunder of a big wave on rocks, and the growl of the undertow, that sudden exclamation of the waiting crowd. It thrills even the oldest race-goer, and Gladys Powers leaned against the rail in front of her, and tried to stop her heart from palpitating by' pressing it against the wood. The silence of the dead followed, as the horses raced neck and neck for the first jump. They reached it all together in a bunch. Sulphur rose at it as though it were a mountain, shot over it without touching a twig, and landed neatly in his stride on the far side, half a length in front of the rest. Between that jump and the next he continued to gain steadily. Vol. xlv. But the Grand National is a five-mile race, or thereabouts—five miles of the stiffest going in the world. The jumps are prodigious. No ordinary horse could get across them, and none but the stoutest-hearted man dare try to ride him. The pace was a cracker, and Sammy Galloway, gazing through his glasses beside Gladys Powers, grunted and ground

458 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. and aiiu jumping as a cat jumps—carefully. The pace, though, was nothing short of tre- mendous. It was much too hot to last, and the field was tailing out behind already. As they rounded the turn for home, Sulphur \"bUI>D,.NLY SHE CLUTCHED AT SAMMY'S SLEEVE AND WHISPERED TO HIM. 'TELL ME, MR. GALLOWAY, WHO'S THAT RIDING HIM?'\" was more than four lengths in the lead. Six other horses were waiting on him, and going strong, one little brown horse that was running fourth seeming to go well within himself. They were all six letting Sulphur make the pace for them, and every one of them was clearly to be reckoned with. As they galloped up towards the grand stand, though, Sulphur's rider seemed to be cracking on the pace even a little faster. He moved on him, and those who watched him narrowly enough through field-glasses could see him speaking to the horse. Gladys was one of those who watched the rider's face. Suddenly she clutched at Sammy's sleeve and whispered to him. \" Tell me, Mr. Galloway, who's that riding him ? It looks from here like It is, isn't it ? \" \" Quiet now, Miss Powers,\" said Sammy.

SULPHUR'S NATIONAL. 459 \" Don't give the game away. Yes, it is. Watch him ! \" \" Five to one Sulphur ! \" bellowed a solitary bookie. But no one seemed disposed to bet. Anybody could see what was likely to happen unless Sulphur's rider slowed down a bit. The horse that leads in that early stage of the game seldom wins the National. The knowing ones among the crowd were scanning the other horses, trying to pick out a likely winner from among the rearguard. As Sulphur galloped past the grand stand Sammy Galloway found time to scrutinize Mr. Powers'; face for a second. The million- aire was watching the horse as though his whole fortune depended on his winning. He had no time to study the rider, and no idea as yet as to who was on the horse's back, and Sammy heaved a sigh of relief as he turned to watch the race again. The horses were starting on their second journev round the course, and there was beginning now to be something different in the gait of Sulphur that was noticeable to a close observer. The other horses scarcely began to gain on him as yet ; they still waited on him five or six lengths in the rear, and trailing out a little—but only a little. But all six of them were going very strong. On the other hand, Sulphur's stride had lost a little of its elasticity. Carefully nursed, he looked good enough to win the race yet, especially considering the lead he had, but there were more than two miles of wicked country still ahead of him, and he needed riding. Saving the one question of pace, he was being ridden perfectly ; no man could have ridden him better. Jump by jump, his rider schooled him over the fiercest course in England as coolly and perfectly as though he were out for a practice gallop, and so far Sulphur had not touched a twig. But the pace was a killer. A bookie voiced the general sentiment. \" Ten to one Sulphur ! \" he roared. Several people laughed. Nobody ran to bet with him at the longer odds. Then at the water-jump Sulphur put a foot wrong as he landed, and stumbled badly. \" He's down ! \" roared the crowd. Gladys Powers smothered a scream and clutched at Sammy's sleeve. He was not down though. The stumble had cost him a good length of his lead, but he was up and going strong. Miss Powers released her hold of Sammy's arm, and the colour came back to her face again. Her breath still came in little gasps, though, and her father heard it. He glanced hurriedly in her direction, but, like his daughter, he could not tear his eyes away from the race for more than a second at a time. Now two of the other horses were beginning to challenge Sulphur's lead. Whips were going, their jockeys moved on them, and the distance between them and Sulphur began to grow gradually less. They gained very

460 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. Just behind him, gaining on him fast, and coming up on the inside, was the little brown horse. He and Sulphur charged at the last hurdle side by side, racing shoulder to shoulder for it, with Sulphur's head only the least little bit in front. Crack came his rider's whip ! Sulphur slipped badly at the take-off, and hit the hurdle hard with both hind legs. \" He's down ! \" roared the crowd. \" Now ride ! \" yelled Galloway, all his reserve gone from him completely. \" Ride, man, ride ! \" The man in front had glanced over his shoulder, and, seeing that he was leading by a safe margin, had pulled up a bit to save his horse. There was more than a furlong still of straight going on good green grass, and the race was still to win. > \"THIS TIME SULPHUR WAS RBAL1.Y DOWN.\" \" Any price you like Sulphur ! \" bellowed the bookies in chorus. This time Sulphur was really down, kicking and struggling like a brute possessed. His rider was still on him, clinging with both hands to his neck, and trying to force his weight backwards into the saddle again. Sulphur kicked and struggled, and rose to his feet. Gladys Powers screamed. Powers swore, and smashed his glasses against the rail in front of him. The third horse rose at the jump, cleared it, and missed Sulphur •> the far side by about an inch. \" It's all up ! \" groaned Galloway, and the millionaire looked towards him and nodded. \" Worth it, though,\" he said, with a wry- smile. \" I was never more excited in mv life.\" \" Thank Heaven he wasn't killed,\" said Gladys. She was white as a sheet and trembling. \" Oh, watch ! \" said Sammy. \" Watch ! \" The crowd was yelling and thundering in the stand. They had reckoned without Sulphur and his rider. The big red devil was game to the last kick, and his last kick

SULPHUR'S NATIONAL. 461 was not due yet by a long way. It dawned on the brute suddenly that there were two horses now in front of him. That, and the whip and his rider's spurs, convinced him that there was still a fight ahead, and he settled down to catch them in real earnest. He passed the second horse like a flash, and gave chase to the little one in front with his eyes shut and his head slugged against the bit, while the crowd roared and yelled until the grand stand sounded like the thunder of an army. \" He'll do it! By Heaven, he'll do it!\" \" He can't ! \" \" He will ! \" \" Ten to one Sulphur! Five to one Sulphur ! Even money Sulphur ! \" The odds came down to nothing in quick succession, as the bookies craned their necks to watch the finish. \" He's done it! He's done it ! \" \"Oh, heavens!\" cried Galloway. \"Look at that, will you ? \" The whip was out again, and Sulphur's rider was putting in all he knew. The whip rose and fell like a flail. \" He's not floggin' him ! D'you see that ? He's not floggin' him ! Look ! Oh, Bill— you're the cunningest old dog that ever \" Bill was flogging at his boot. The rider of the first horse heard the whack, whack, whack behind him, and started his own whip going. He flogged his horse, though. The game little fellow changed his feet, and in that second Sulphur caught up with him. Then down came Bill's whip on Sulphur's flank, and he spurted, and the two flashed past the winning- post in a thundering, snorting, sweating, wild-eyed streak— so close together that no one outside the judge's box could tell which was the winner. Then the roar of the crowd died down to expectant silence, while everybody watched the number-board. A man started fumbling with the numbers, and Sammy saw them even before they were on the board. \" Ten—seventeen—six ! \" he read off. Ten was Sulphur. V. \" COME on, Mr. Powers !\" said Sammy Galloway. \" You're too late to lead him in, but you can see him in the paddock.\" He took Miss Powers's arm, and the million- aire followed them to the paddock at a run. Sulphur was already blanketed again, and was trying hard to eat a stable-hand who was leading him back to his box, and Galloway left them looking at him while he hurried round to the weighing-room door. There he waited patiently, and presently the Honour- able William Allison emerged in jockey kit, covered with mud and foam, but beaming. \" Bill, you idiot, we've won twenty-five thousand pounds a-piece, and it's just twenty- five thousand more than you deserve. What in Heaven's name possessed you to ride the race like that ? \" \" Point is, I won it, Sammy. Had to ride