The Strand 1913-6 Vol_XLV №270 June mich

\"A SHIP WAS BLAZING BRIGHTLY ALONGSIDE ONE OF THE WHARVES NEAR THE BRIDGE, AND THE AIR WAS FULL OF DRIFTING SMUTS AND OF A HEAVY ACRID SMELL OF BURNING.\" (Seepage 6to.)



THE STRAND MAGAZINE. thing on earth that we loved had been washed away into the great, infinite, unknown ocean, and here were we marooned upon this desert island of a world, without companions, hopes, or aspirations. A few years skulking like jackals among the graves of the human race, and then our ow.i belated end would come. \" It's dreadful, George, dreadful ! \" the lady cried, in an agony of sobs. \" If we had only passed with the others ! Oh, why did you save us ? I feel as if it is we that are dead and every- one else alive.\" Challenger's great eyebrows were drawn down in concentrated thought, while his huge, hairy paw closed upon the outstretched hand of his wife. I had observed that she always held out her arms to him in trouble as a child would to its mother. \"Without being a fatalist to the point of non-resistance,\" said he, \" I have always found that the highest wisdom lies in an acquiescence with the actual.\" He spoke slowly, and there was a vibration of feeling in his sonorous voice. \"I do not acquiesce,\" said Summerlec, firmly. \" I don't see that it matters a row of pins whether you acquiesce or whether you don't,\" remarked Lord John. \" You've got to take it, whether you take it fightin' or take it lyin' down, so what's the odds whether you acquiesce or not ? I can't remember that anyone asked our permission before the thing began, and nobody's likely to ask it now. So I HAVE MY HUSBAND AND MY HOUSE.\" what difference can it make what we may think of it ? \" \" It is just all the difference between happi- ness and misery,\" said Challenger, with an abstracted face, still patting his wife's hand. \" You can swim with the tide and have peace in mind aid so 1, or you can thrust against it and be bruised and weary. This business is beyond us, so let us accept it as

THE POISON BELT. 605 poison belt to the extent of being completely submerged. It is now nine o'clock. The question is, at what hour did we pass out from it ? \" \" The air was very bad at daybreak,\" said I. \" Later than that,\" said Mrs. Challenger. \" As late as eight o'clock I distinctly felt the same choking at my throat which came at the outset.\" \" Then we shall say that it passed just after eight o'clock. For seventeen hours the world has been soaked in the poisonous ether. For that length of time the Great Gardener has sterilized the human mould which had grown over the surface of His fruit. Is it possible that the work is incompletely done—that others may have survived besides ourselves ? \" \" That's what I was wonderin',\" said Lord John. \" Why should we be the only pebbles on the beach ? \" \" It is absurd to suppose that anyone besides ourselves can possibly have survived,\" said Summerlee, with conviction. \" Consider that the poison was so virulent that even a man who is as strong as an ox, and has not a nerve in his body, like Malone here, could hardly get up the stair before he fell un conscious. Is it likely that anyone could stand seventeen minutes of it, far less hours ?\" \" Unless someone saw it coming and made preparation, same as old friend Challenger did.\" \" That, I think, is hardly probable,\" said Challenger, projecting his beard and sinking his eyelids. \" The combination of observa- tion, inference, and anticipatory imagination which enabled me to foresee the danger is what one can hardly expect twice in the same generation.\" \" Then your conclusion is that everyone is certainly dead ? \" \" There can be little doubt of that. We have to remember, however, that the poison worked from below upwards, and would possibly be less virulent in the higher strata of the atmosphere. It is strange, indeed, that it should be so ; but it presents one of those features which will afford us in the future a fascinating field for study. One could imagine therefore, that if one had to search for sur- vivors one would turn one's eyes with best hopes of success to some Tibetan village or some Alpine farm, many thousands of feet above the sea-level.\" \" Well, considerin' that there are no rail- roads and no steamers you might as well talk about survivors in the moon,\" said Lord John. \" But what I'm askin' myself is whether it's really over or whether it's only half-time.\" Summerlee craned his neck to look round the horizon. \" It seems clear and fine,\" said he, in a very dubious voice ; \" but so it did yesterday. I am by no means assured that it is all over.\" Challenger shrugged his shoulders.

6o6 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. rigor mortis, while the contraction of the fibres had drawn his mouth into a hard sardonic grin. This symptom was prevalent among all who had died from the poison. Wherever we went we were welcomed by those grinning faces, which seemed to mock at our dreadful position, smiling silently and grimly at the ill - fated survivors of their race. \" Look here,\" said Lor.d John, who had paced restlessly about the dining room whilst we partook of some food, \" I don't know how you fellows feel about it, but for my part, I simply can't sit here and do nothin'.\" \" Perhaps,\" Challenger answered, \" you would have the kindness to suggest what you think we ought to do.\" \" Get a move on us and see all that has happened.\" \" That is what I should myself propose.\" \" But not in this little country village. We can see from this window all that this place can teach us.\" \" Where shou'd we go, then ? \" \" To London ! \" \" That's all very well,\" grumbled Summerlee. \" You may be equal to a forty-mile walk, but I'm not so sure about Challenger, with his stumpy legs, and I am perfectly sure about myself.\" Challenger was very much annoyed. \" If you could see your way, sir, to confining your remarks to your own physical peculiari- ties, you would find that you had an ample field for comment,\" he cried. \" I had no intention to offend you, my dear Challenger,\" cried our tactless friend. \" You can't be held responsible for your own physique. If Nature has given you a short, heavy body you cannot possibly help having stumpy legs.\" Challenger was too furious to answer. He could only growl and blink and bristle. Lord John hastened to intervene before the dispute became more violent. \" You talk of walking. Why should we walk ? \" said he. \" Do you suggest taking the train ?\" asked Challenger, still simmering. \" What's the matter with the motor-car ? Why should we not go in that ? \" \" I am not an expert,\" said Challenger, pulling at his beard, reflectively. \" At the same time, you are right in supposing that the human intellect in its higher manifesta- tions should be sufficiently flexible to turn itself to anything. Your idea is an excellent one, Lord John. I myself will drive you all to London.\" \" You will do nothing of the kind,\" said Summerlee, with decision. \" No, indeed, George ! \" cried his wife. \" You only tried once, and you remember how you crashed through the gate of the garage.\" \" It was a momentary want of concentra- tion,\" said Challenger, complacently. \" You can consider the matter settled. I will

THE POISON BELT. €07 \" IT WAS THIS GRIM HUSH, AND THE TALI. CLOUDS OF SMOKE WHICH ROSK HF.RK AND THERE OVER THE COUNTRY-SIDE, WHICH CAST A CHILL INTO OUR HKARTS.\"

6o8 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. side from smouldering buildings, which cast a chill into <5ur hearts as we gazed round at the glorious panorama of the Weald. And then there were the dead ! At first those endless groups of drawn and grinning faces filled us with a shuddering horror. So vivid and mordant was the impression that I can live over again that slow descent of the Station Hill, the passing by the nurse-girl with the two babes, the sight of the old horse on his knees between the shafts, the cabman twisted across his seat, and the young man inside with his hand upon the open door in the very act of springing out. Lower down were six reapers all in a litter, their limbs crossing, their dead, unwinking eyes gazing upwards at the glare of heaven. These things I see as in a photograph. But soon, by the merciful provision of Nature, the over-excited nerve ceased to respond. The very vastness of the horror took away from its personal appeal. Individuals merged into groups, groups into crowds, crowds into a universal phenomenon which one soon accepted as the inevitable detail of every scene. Only here and there, where some particularly brutal or grotesque incident caught the attention, did the mind come back with a sudden shock to the personal and human meaning of it all. Above all these was the fate of the children. That, I remember, filled us with the strongest sense of intolerable injustice. We could have wept—Mrs. Challenger did weep—when we passed a great Council school and saw the long trail of tiny figures scattered down the road which led from it. They had been dismissed by their terrified teachers, and were speeding for their homes when the poison caught them in its net. Great numbers of people were at the open windows of the houses. In Tunbridge Wells there was hardly one which had not its staring, smiling face. At the last instant the need of air, that very craving for oxygen which we alone had been able to satisfy, had sent them flying to the window. The side walks, too, were littered with men and women, hatless and bonnetless, who had rushed out of the houses. Many of them had fallen in the roadway. It was a lucky thing that in Lord John we had found an expert driver, for it was no easy matter to pick one's way. Passing through the villages or towns we could only go at a walking pace, and once, I remember, opposite the school at Tonbridge, we had to halt some time while we carried aside he bodies which blocked our path. A few small, definite pictures stand out in my memory from amid that long panorama of death upon the Sussex and Kentish high roads. One was that of a great, glittering motor-car standing outside the inn at the village of Southborough. It bore, as I should guess, some pleasure party upon their return from Brighton or from Eastbourne. There were three gaily-dressed women, all young and beautiful, one of them with a Peking spaniel upon her lap. With them were

THE POISON BELT. 609 tremendous combination of death and disaster displayed itself before us. \" Pretty doin's ! What ! \" he cried, as we descended the Station Hill at Rotherfield, and it was still \" Pretty doin's ! What ! \" as we picked our way through a wilderness of amazing indication of life. Lord John ran the motor to the kerb, and in an instant we had rushed through the open door of the house and up the staircase to the second-floor front room from which the signal proceeded. A very old lady sat in a chair by the open \"'I FEARED THAT I WAS ABANDONED HKKE FOR EVER,' SAID SHE.'1 death in the High Street of Lewisham and the Old Kent Road. It was here that we received a sudden and amazing shock. Out of the window of a humble corner house there appeared a fluttering handkerchief waving at the end of a long, thin human arm. Never had the sight of unexpected death caused our hearts to stop and then throb so wildly as did this Vul. xlv.-63. window, and close to her, laid across a second chair, was a cylinder of oxygen, smaller but of the same shape as those which had saved our own lives. She turned her thin, drawn, bespectacled face towards us as we crowded in at the doorway. \" I feared that I was abandoned here for ever,\" said she, \" for I am an invalid and cannot stir.\"

6io THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \" Well, madam,\" Challenger answered, \" it is a lucky chance that we happened to pass.\" \" I have one all - important question to ask you,\" said she. \" Gentlemen, I beg that you will be [rank with me. What effect will these events have upon London and North-Western Railway shares ? \" We should have laughed had it not been for the tragic eagerness with which she listened for our answer. Mrs. Burston, for that was her name, was an aged widow whose whole income depended upon a small holding of this stock. Her life had been regulated by the rise or fall of the dividend, and she could form no conception of existence save as it was affected by the quotation of her shares. In vain we pointed out to her that all the money in the world was hers for the taking, and was useless when taken. Her old mind would not adapt itself to the new idea, and she wept loudly over her vanished stock. \" It was all I had,\" she wailed. \" If that is gone I may as well go too.\" Amid her lamentations we found out how this frail old plant had lived where the whole great forest had fallen. She was a confirmed invalid and an asthmatic. Oxygen had been prescribed for her malady, and a tube was in her room at the moment of the crisis. She had naturally inhaled some as had been her habit when there was a difficulty with her breathing. It had given her relief, and by doling out her supply she had managed to survive the night. Finally she had fallen asleep and been awakened by the buzz of our motor-car.. As it was impossible to take her on with us,.we saw that she had all necessaries of life and promised to communicate with her in a couple of days at the latest. So we left her, \"still weeping bitterly over her vanished stock. As we approached the Thames the block in the streets became thicker and the obstacles more bewildering It was with difficulty that we made our way across London Bridge. The approaches to it upon the Middlesex side were choked from end to end with frozen traffic which made all further advance in that direction impossible. A ship was blazing brightly alongside one of the wharves near the bridge, and the air was full of drifting smuts and of a heavy acrid smell of burning. There was a cloud of dense smoke some- where near the Houses of Parliament, but it was impossible from where we were to see what was on fire. \" I don't know how it strikes you,\" Lord John remarked, as he brought his engine to a standstill, \" but it seems to me the country is more cheerful than the town. Dead London is gettin' on my nerves. I'm for a cast round and then gettin' back to Rotherfield.\" \" I confess that I do not see what we can hope for here,\" said Professor Summerlee. \" At the same time,\" said Challenger, his

THE POISON BELT. 611 \"ON A BROAD LAMP PElJESTAL A BURLY POLICEMAN WAS STANDING, LEANING HIS BACK AGAINST THE POST IN SO NATURAL AN ATTITUDE THAT IT WAS HARD TO REALIZE THAT HE WAS NOT ALIVE.\" the post in so natural an attitude that it was hard to realize that he was not alive, while at his feet there lay a ragged newsboy with his bundle of papers on the ground beside him. A paper-cart had got blocked in the crowd, and we could read in large letters, black upon yellow, \" Scene at Lord's. County match interrupted.\" This must have been the earliest edition, for there were other placards bearing the legend, \" Is it the End ? Great Scientist's Warning.\" And another, \" Is Challenger Justified ? Ominous Rumours.\" Challenger pointed the latter placard Out to his wife, as it thrust itself like a banner above the throng. I could see him throw out his chest and stroke his beard as he looked at it. It pleased and flattered that complex mind to think that London had died with his name and his words still present in their thoughts. His feelings were so evident that they aroused the sardonic comment of his colleague.

612 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \" In the limelight to the last, Challenger,\" he remarked. \" So it would appear,\" he answered, complacently. \" Well,\" he added, as he looked down the long vista of the radiating streets, all silent and all choked up with death, \" I. really sec no purpose to be served by our staying any longer in London. I suggest that we return at once to Rotherfield, and then take counsel as to how we shall most profitably employ the years which lie before us.\" Only one other picture shall I give of the scenes which we carried back in our memories from the dead City. It is a glimpse which we had of the interior of the old church of St. Mary's, which is at the very point where our car was awaiting us. Picking our way among the prostrate figures upon the steps, we pushed open the swing door and entered. It was a wonderful sight. The church was crammed from end to end with kneeling figures in every posture of supplication and abasement. At the last dreadful moment, brought suddenly face to face with the realities of life, those terrific realities which hang over qs even while we follow the shadows, the terrified people had rushed into those old City churches which for generations had hardly ever held a congrega- tion. There they huddled as close as they could kneel, many of them in their agitation still wearing their hats, while above them in the pulpit a young man in lay dress had apparently been addressing them when he and they had been overwhelmed by the same fate. He lay now, like Punch in his booth, with his head and two limp arms hanging over the ledge of the pulpit. It was a nightmare, the grey, dusty church, the rows of agonized figures, the dimness and silence of it all. We moved about with hushed whispers, walking upon our tiptoes. And then suddenly I had an idea. At one corner of the church, near the door, stood the ancient font, and behind it a deep recess in which there hung the ropes for the bellringers. Why should we not send a message out over London which would attract to us anyone who might still be alive ? I ran across, and pulling at the list-covered rope I was surprised to find how difficult it was to swing the bell. Lord John had followed me. \" By George, young fellah !\" said he, pulling off his coat. \" You've hit on a dooc.ed good notion. Give me a grip and we'll soon have a move on it.\" But, even then, so heavy was the bell that it was not until Challenger and Summerlee had added their weight to ours that we heard the roaring and clanging above our heads which told us that the great clapper was ringing out its music. Far over dead London resounded our message of comrade- ship and hope to any fellow-man surviving. It cheered our own hearts, that strong, metallic call, and we turned the more

atsmen Do Not Like. By J. B. HOBBS. Illustrated by CKas. Grave. HE balls batsmen do not like at the commencement of the season are so numerous and varied that a catalogue, in- stead of an article, could be filled with them. Bowling is then to the batsman the direct opposite of what the May - fly is to the trout-fisher. The eye, in a cricket sense, has been asleep all through the long winter months, and before it is wide enough awake to judge the flight of a ball at all well, the batsman often hears a sharp click behind which tells him in unmistakable fashion that the ball he thought was just off the wicket had its own views on the subject. Stiff joints, slow and slothful after months of inaction, also enter into the problem, and, aided and abetted by the as yet unready eye, make any passable bowling difficult and really good bowling practically unplayable. Then the bowler flourishes amazingly, especially it, as is so often the case, he is helped by a strong dash of what is Spring weather according to the calendar, but is really more suggestive of skating and hot chestnuts than cricket. Then wickets are cheap enough, and batsman after batsman looks in a puzzled sort of way at an imaginary spot on the pitch, takes a farewell glance at the scattered stumps behind him, and knows, to vary the words of the poet, \" that the subsequent proceedings will interest him no more.\" But batsmen soon find their normal form, and if the weather only behaves at all decently the balls batsmen do not like stand out clearly from the run of ordinary bowling. I will commence with the insidious \" lob,\" that interesting survival of the cricket of our forefathers. I have never seen or played against one of the real old \" lobsters,\" so it is obviously impossible for me to say what modern batsmen would think of the trundling of a second Walter Humphries. But I do know that when Mr. Simpson-Hayward takes a turn with the ball and sends up that, puzzling underhand stuff of his, he is not,; exactly beloved by a batsman who has played himself in and is collecting a nice lot of runs against orthodox bowling. Theoreti- cally, a quick-footed batsman who can play back or forward with equal facility ought never to be in trouble against this underhand bowling. But in practice one finds that the sharp contrast in delivery and the number of tempting opportunities presented to \" hit out and get out\" make the wily lob-bowler a very real thorn in the side of a deserving batsman. Tired of making big hits all along the ground, only to see them always snapped up for singles by alert and well- placed fieldsmen, the batsman selects a promising \" lob\" or two and, possibly, clouts them for six apiece. Then he thinks

614 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \"INGLORIOUSLY STUMPED YARDS OUT OF HIS GROUND/ is quite likely to dash out to the very next ball, miss it badly, and find himself ingloriously stumped yards out of his ground. It hurts a cricketer's pride to get out like this, and not all the sweet innocence of its languid and enticing flight will induce me to place the \" lob\" anywhere except in the category of balls batsmen do not like. It may be going too far to say outright that any bowling which is mechanical is ridiculous from the pavilion, and thanking his lucky stars if he is able to help himself to a safe single or couple every now and then. After a spell of this cricket \" patience,\" the wily slow bowler is fully capable of bowling the bad ball on pur- pose. Quite unexpectedly he presents the worried batsmen with an ideal ball to hit, and has a man on the boundary to save the four if the stroke is a safe one, or to make the catch if the batsman has a hefty \" dip \" which just fails to drop the leather among the spectators. So far, however, we have kept clear of the ball which a batsman has the best of personal reasons for dis- liking, and which, whatever else it may be, is most decidedly not on the slow side. A fast, erratic bowler on a fiery pitch is the most cordially disliked bowler known to cricketers as a whole, and for very good and sufficient reasons. Some of his balls take wickets, others take teeth, trim eyebrows, clip ears, dent shins, split fingers, smash nails, and leave black-and-blue imprints on all parts of the human form divine. It is all liked by batsmen, and that any bowling very well to talk about hitting this sort of wh.'ch is not mechanical is disliked by stuff; the them. But this is true enough, in a trouble is that general sense, as no matter how perfect the the ball is so length and accuracy of bowling may be, the often first with most such bowling can do in first-class the hit. Then cricket is to keep runs down. Not so the the bowler says, ball which has brains as well as muscle behind \"Sorry, old it, as this type of ball keeps the batsman chap,\" while playing strenuously all the time ; and one the stricken never feels really at home against it. Colin batsman is won- Blythe excels in this clever phase of our dering in a dim national game. He adapts his bowling sort of way with wonderful skill to the known character- whether the istics of individual batsmen, and often gets bowler means the best of wickets on pitches where a slow to bowl him out left-hander ought to be knocked all over the or knock him place. out. Soon All these brainy slow bowlers are addicted afterwards the to the, to my mind, extremely reprehensible groggy batsman habit of tying batsmen up in knots. Every sees a spurt of ball they bowl has a plot behind it. The bats- dust somewhere man can only wait and-watch each ball with about half-way '

BALLS BATSMEN DO NOT LIKE. time to avoid its onslaught. But the real villain of the piece is the very fast ball, which rears up as a man plays forward to it, or even attempts to drive if it is a little over- pitched. Then one gets a species of cannon effect of! the bat up into the \" A FAST, KRRATIC BOWLBR ON A FIERY PITCH IS MOST CORDIALLY DISLIKED.\" many, many stars, while a noise like a motor throbbing in his head completely drowns the \" Very sorry, old chap \" from the bowler. Balls like these are not liked, but I fancy the most hated one of all is not the whizzing rocketer which flies around the devoted head of the man with the willow. Such a ball, pitched short, gives a batsman SORRY, OLD CHAT.\" \"THK GROGGY BATSMAN SKES A Sl'URT OF DUST.'\"' face, sometimes under the jaw, and if there is a more cordially-detested ball than this in the game of cricket I have never heard of it. Turning to orthodox fast bowling, I may say at once that any really fast ball which breaks a little is not •'.*.' liked by a batsman, and a fast ball which breaks more than a little is only liked by the batsman who is getting tired and does not want to bother the scorer any longer. That unplayable one which pitches on the leg stump and goes with the bowler's arm a little is, however, the worst of all, and any batsman who manages to scrape such a ball off his wicket is entitled to congratulate himself. Sheer pace, too, enters into the argu- ment. A very fast ball from a very fast bowler—mark the two \" verys \" —even if perfectly straight, of irre- proachable length, and guiltless of the least sign of brea <, is a mortal enemy to any batsman. But the pace must be terrific for this to be true on a perfect pitch, and my experience is that

6r6 THE STRAXD MAGAZINE. a ball of this type is extremely rare —perhaps the most rare in first- class cricket. A fast bowler who has a knack of popping in these balls which exceed the speed limit even for fast bowl- ing is a good man to have on your side, but he is a nasty person to bat against. Yorkers may be either fast or not, but whenever met with they are troublesome. Some bowlers have mastered the art of delivering a yorker during a batsman's first over, which is not kind of them. It is very necessary indeed for a batsman to watch most carefully the pitch of the first few balls he receives, and he does not like it a bit if lie has to face a ball which drops close to where he grounds his bat. It is most inconsiderate to bowl such a ball before a batsman has begun to get his eye in, and the offence is aggravated if the pace is varied without any warning change in the action of the bowler. Such an unexpec- ted yorker delivered fairly fast by a bowler whose normal pace is slow or medium is not good at any time, but it is a wicked thing to do early in an innings. It is one of the most effec- tive methods of spoiling a potential century known in cricket, and is a ball I shall place on my batsman's black list without the least com punction. While I am about it I may as well include in the same category all balls delivered with intent to deceive by concealed alter- ations in pace. As a matter of fact, however, there are few bowlers who can make an appreciable change in the pace of a ball without giving A SPECIES OF CANNON EFFKCT OFF THF. BAT UP INTO THE FACE.\" the batsman some inkling of what to expect; but there are many I could name who vary their pace quite enough to bother

BALLS BATSMEN DO NOT LIKE. 617 the ball leaves the hand of a bowler. The ball then becomes just an ordinary break ball, and can be dealt with ac- cordingly. It can often be punished severely, as length is so frequently sacrificed to obtain the \" googlie \" effect. Dr. Hordern, the famous Australian bowler, keeps the most consistent length with his \"googlies\" I have ever seen, and his action is also very baffling. As things go in cricket the \" googlie \" is quite a novelty. Plenty of capable club cricketers have never faced a real \" googlie \" in their lives, and the \"googlie \" bowlers now playing in county cricket could be 1 HALF OUT BEFORE HE GUARD.\" TAKES HIS numbered easily on the fingers of one hand. It follows that a man concludes he has something new and wonderful to contend with when called upon to bat against a \" googlie \" bowler, and as confidence means so much to a batsman, he is half out before he takes his guard. The other half of him is very soon accounted for when he begins to worry about which way the ball will break, and the \"googlie\" claims yet another victim. Why ? To my mind, merely on account of the terrors associated with its name, and to a certain extent on account of its novelty. When \" googlie \" bowling becomes more general, as I suppose it will, we shall have a better opportunity of judging it on its real merits. At present, although batsmen hate the stuff, I really think they are unduly prejudiced on the point. If they leave off worry- ing about what may be \"on\" the ball, and treat that as an unknown quantity until the ball pitches, or practice enables them to make correct forecasts from the bowler's action, they have more than half solved the problem of Vol. xlv.—64. NO BATSMAN CAN TKI.L FROM TUB BOWl.EK's ACTION\" WHICH WAY A BALL IS LIKF.LY TO SWERVE.\"

6i8 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. dangerous of the tribe. The one that swerves a little, just when you least expect it, is the ball batsmen have no use whatever for. The decided \" swerver \" is puzzling and a nuisance, but is apt to defeat itself by its own magnitude. Yet whether a ball swerves little or much, it requires watching with extreme care. You want to see the willow meet the leather every time when a gentleman is serving up a selection of \" swervers,\" for it is so easy and fatal to hit where the ball is not when coping with this elusive specimen of the bowler's cunning. There is always the consolation, however, that the many imperfectly- understood factors mixed up with the gentle art of swerving are not unlikely to work out in favour of the batsman at times, with the joyful result that a ball devised to dive and twist in unholy fashion proves to be a nice friendly ball, which goes pop to the boundary, where all good balls—batsman's good balls — go with docile cele rity. The pro portion of such balls among \" swervers \" is by no means i i- significant, even when bowlers who can make a ball swerve are operating with the leather, and if the digression is pardonable, I should like to submit this point to the careful consideration of young bowlers who may be languishing under an attack of \" swerve \" on the brain. Sometimes a batsman is subjected to a succession of similar balls, not dangerous or troublesome individually, but which are intended to have a culminative and collective effect by no means to the liking of a batsman. What is well known as the \" off theory \" is the oldest example of the kind, but it is almost played out by now, and is no longer resorted to systematically in first-class cricket. An occasional spell of it may be tried with the idea of trapping a batsman who is well set, but modern, quick-footed batsmen have developed too many punishing strokes for the \" off theory \" to prosper. There is no ANGRY CRIES OF 'BOWL AT THE WICKET1 FROM DISGUSTED SPECTATORS.\" risk in leaving the dangerous ones alone, and when the right one to hit comes along, a first- class bat has such a variety of strokes at his command that he can often place the leather hard, low, and true, clean through the carefully-arranged fieldsmen and away to the boundary.

BALLS BATSMEN DO NOT LIKE. 619 \" HE LOOKS ini.Y ON WHILE BALL AFTER BALL GOES BY OUTSIDE HIS LEG STUMP INTO THE WICKET-KIJEI'ER'S HANDS.\" fear of losing his wicket, and as he must be got out for the game to proceed, it simply means that the bowler is forced sooner or later to bowl at the sticks. The sooner the better, as, surely, there is no more unedifying spectacle in cricket than the sight of a batsman compelled to leave active partici- pation in the game to the bowler and wicket- keeper. It makes a batsman feel that he has been forced into some strange new game which is not cricket when he has to behave in such a manner, and if only for this reason the \" leg theory \" must be judged guilty of providing an abundance of balls batsmen do not like. It may sound odd for a batsman to complain about bowling which, if he is content to leave it severely alone, does not endanger his wicket in the least. But the complaint is, nevertheless, well founded, because every ball bowled at cricket should contain either potential runs or the possibility of taking a wicket. Many deliveries fall short of this ideal by accident, and this is all part of the game proper. But such is not the case when bowling is deliberately systematized with the idea of rendering it unsafe to touch, but quite safe if ignored. The doom of cricket is in sight when such a practice becomes at all common, and a batsman can hardly be expected to rejoice at the prospect, even if it does enable him to be \" not out \" as often as he pleases. It all comes to this—a bats- man is entitled to resent bowling which is obviously planned with the set pur- pose of rendering run - getting too risky to be worth attempting, but which is quite unable to take a wicket on its merits. An occasional ball delivered to tempt a batsman is quite another matter—fhe trouble is when the thing is reduced to a system and carried to excess. The ball which gets a batsman out \"leg-before\" is next on my list, and might have been dealt with earlier, for there can hardly be a ball more universally detested by batsmen as a whole. From a batsman's point of view the ball which should send the umpire's hand up for \" l.-b -w.\" is so seldom bowled that it amounts to a curiosity. What really happens is (again, mark you, from the batsman's view-point) that the umpire and the bowler are victims of a singular optical illusion extremely prevalent on cricket- grounds. It is most annoying to get a

62O THE STRAND MAGAZINE. that the sight of a poor wretch dancing on one leg and ap- parently trying to nurse the other under his arm would soften the' heart of the most unrepent- ant bowler. But, no; it's \" How's that ? \" and out you limp, an irate victim of one of the most un pleasant balls a batsman meets with during his career. Of course, you are not out—one never is under such cir- cumstances ; but you have to go, all the same. For an hour or so after- wards you answer all inquiries with a \"YOU ANSWER ALL INQUIRIKS WITH A POSITIVE ASSERTION THAT THK BALI. KEAl.LY PITCHED SOMEWHERE IN THE NEXT PARISH.\" the blind spot, and I never saw the ball,\" is a remark often heard when a batsman is unbuck- ling his pads in the pavilion. No doubt a batsman does not like this ball, but he must put up with it, as it is part of what I should call the mechanism of cricket. Every batsman has his \" blind spot,\" but those who indulge in the old-fashioned long, forward lunges are particularly weak in this re- spect. Their style prevents them from obtaining the least sight of the ball when it pitches; positive assertion that the ball really pitched what they really do is to push their bat somewhere in the next parish, and must have forward in the direction where they hope the hit a brick or something to have broken in ball will be. On perfect pitches this works anywhere near the wicket. You feel better out well enough time after time, but it as the bruise heals, and in a day or two, on always means leaving something to chanre turning the matter over calmly in your mind, which ought to be dealt with scientifically. you remember that you did just step in front of your wicket a little, that the ball was too quick for your bat, and that, perhaps

-FROM THE PIT. By L. J. BEESTON. Illustrated ty W. R. S. Stott. I. E jumped off the motor-bus step in an uncertain, crude fashion which suggested un- familiarity in that line of locomotion. His soft felt hat threatened to fall off, and he pressed it down over his fore- head in an abrupt, almost fierce, manner. On the other side of the Tottenham Court Road was Store Street. He turned up that quiet thoroughfare and got into Gower Street. He ascended the stone steps before one of the tall houses and rang. \" My name is Hallas. A friend of mine— Mr. Marchmont—took a couple of furnished rooms \" The landlady interrupted. \" Oh, yes ; this way, if you please.\" At the same time she darted a keen glance at her new lodger. Some of her lodgers lifted their hats to her. This one didn't. She perceived, in that fleeting moment of examina- tion, a white face, large and bony, a Roman nose, a heavy chin, deeply-set eyes. A face of a man of power, of force, and certainly on the safe side of thirty. She led the way up one flight of carpeted stairs. \" This is the sitting-room, sir; and here is the bedroom. I understood Mr. March- mont to say that you will be having your meals outside; but I can prepare you any- thing you wish.\" She switched on the electric light in the sitting-room. \" Thank you,\" replied the other. \" I will talk with you about that later.\" The landlady accepted the inferred dis- missal and went out, closing the door. This taking of rooms by one man for another was a little outside convention ; but then Mr. Marchmont was of the best social standing, and a month's rent in advance is a splendid reference. The new lodger stood perfectly still and rolled his eyeballs as if awaking from a dream, from a nightmare, from a mental horror. He drew a deep breath ; he put up a hand to his collar, loosening the linen round his throat. He had come to this room straight from prison. Nearly two years had passed since he had received his sentence—since, with those words of doom stunning his brain, he had turned in the dock and descended those steps which went down into oblivion. He flung his top-coat over a chair and then removed his hat. A mirror showed him the insult of his close-cropped head, and he stared at it, uttering a sound between a laugh and a sob. \" My things,\" he murmured, moving slowly round the room. \" Marchmont must have stored them—or some of them. And he has had this place furnished with some of

622 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. True, Marchmont had sent him that letter on the eve of leaving prison ; the letter which told him where to go—to this place. Appa- rently Eyre Marchmont had not forgotten him, at any rate. And when he thought of Marchmont he thought of the Sabine Club, and wondered if he still belonged to that circle—one of the most exclusive, the most expensive, in the West-end. But since he—Hallas—had dragged the name of the Sabine Club into the police news, perhaps a membership was no longer so coveted a distinction. His lips writhed in a bitter smile as he reflected on the stigma which his alleged crime had burned into the name of that most select coterie. The thing was so horribly banal, so villainously common- place. He had been accused of picking a pocket ! Yes, in bald terms, that was it. In the pocket was a pendant in the form of a Maltese cross, studded with gems : in the sable-trimmed overcoat belonging to a French Marquis. And while the French Marquis played for high stakes in the card-room he— Hallas—was supposed to have abstracted the trinket, worth, incidentally, a couple of thousand pounds. If the Marquis had not lost a large sum, and his temper, at the table, he might have consented to the affair being hushed up. As it was. he gave a fellow-member in charge. The offence was proved home, and St. John Hallas went to jail. What a scandal ! A member of one of the most aristocratic clubs in London a thief ! If the evicted member were to meet any of those one-time friends again icicles would compare unfavourably with the chill of the greeting. Or, rather, there would be no greeting at all; only a glance of detesta- tion on one side, and on the other a furtive shrinking. Hallas, thinking of these matters, wiped his sweating forehead. For two years he had been in the flame. He was out now, but scorched to the soul. With the possible exception of Marchmont, his only friends were the dumb ones on which his eyes rested : a bookcase filled with volumes—mostly poetry, anthologies. His pipe-rack was by the side of the mantel, with his favourite briars in the niches. The walls were covered with his pictures; his folding card-table was in a recess ; his bric-a-brac everywhere ; his piano in a corner. Certainly Marchmont had acted in a kindly fashion. Good old Marchmont, who, at the trial, had backed the accused with all the weight of his influence—which was not much, Clearly Marchmont had believed in his friend's innocence. No doubt he had insisted upon it at the Sabine. In vain. Over the brink Hallas had gone ; shut out in a terrible darkness; got rid of by sociejy; his name a thing for shudders. jf A jail-bird ; a felon ; a professional tyief. And a member of the Sabine Club. Ho/rible paradox !

FROM THE PIT. 623 WHEN HALLAS HAD READ BUT TWO LINES HE STOPPED, AMAZED. suggest a general meeting called for some special purpose. This naturally elicited remarks, and the very surprising intelligence was spread that each-man there had put in his appearance in response to a request from one of the members —Eyre Marchmont. This request had been couched in either written or verbal terms of earnest beseeching. It had been put as a great and personal favour, Comments grew. A deep hum of conversa- tion upon this somewhat aston- ishing occurrence. \"Quite extra- ord inary,\" observed white- haired General McMuller. \" And uncon- ventional,\" re- plied his friend, Sir Peter Breves. \"It is now a quarter past the hour, and March- mont not ap- peared. I confess I do not like it. Savours of a hoax.\" The General disagreed, though frowning. \" No, no; he would not dare. By the way, you know that his Serene High- ness Prince Osca has honoured us by accepting a life membership ? \" Sir Peter nod- ded ; then [he looked up lazily at a dapper little figure, hands in trousers pockets, who was standing before them. \" I overheard your remark, General,\" said this third man. \" It is all very fine, but we've a. deuced lot of foreign blood in our body-corporate here. No doubt the Prince is a catch; but ever since our French Marquis had the doubtful taste to charge a fellow-member \" Good heavens, Standreth !\" remonstrated Sir Peter. \" That affair is amongst the dead things. We have forgotten \" \" Gentlemen ! \" cried a loud voice.

624 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. occupants, and after a \" Hush ! \" from a few lips there fell a total silence. Every eye was fixed upon the latest comer. He himself was watching two or three liveried servants gliding about with trays. He waited for them to go out. Then he shut the door and stood with his back to it. He was a man of fine presence, with spark- ling black eyes and a waxed moustache right across the width of his face. A lean man, dark, athletic. He was Eyre Marchmont. He began in a tone so subdued that only those near to him heard the words :— \" I am aware that in asking you, in a some- what surreptitious manner, to meet here this evening, I acted in a most unusual way, quite aside from our ordinary methods of procedure. But I have something of an extraordinary nature to communicate.\" \" Speak up ! \" interrupted two or three voices. Having got so far, however, he seemed unable to speak at all. A flush had faded from his dark face, leaving it sallow, blood- less. He drew some deep breaths, craning his neck, clenching and unclenching his fists. \" I have chosen my own way of delivering to you a message which will, I fear, do more than merely startle you,\" he continued, gaining strength. \" I implore you not to interrupt me, and to hear me to the end. May I count upon that ? \" A voice broke a profound silence : \" Why, certainly, Marchmont; you know you can. Out with it.\" \" I thank you. That is a promise of a fair hearing, and I rely upon it. I am going to speak of a matter which touches us all, though we have tried to forget it. Gentle- men, Alfred St. John Hallas was released from prison yesterday. Concerning him, I have a painful, a frightful duty to perform. I beg you to believe that what I am about to do is absolutely necessary.\" The words were yet on his lips when he opened the door behind him. He stepped out. \" Now, by all that's \" said Sir Peter, in a menacing growl. A profound stir interrupted him ; a deep sensation. Marchmont had returned, but not alone. His right hand gripped the arm of one who had not been seen in that room for two years ; who, after one agonized look at the company, fixed his eyes upon the carpet, while his thin face flamed and whitened alternately under the stress of terrific emotion. Several men started to their feet. March- mont flung up a beseeching hand. \" I accept full responsibility for this,\" he cried. \" I brought Hallas here; you can have him ejected—if you should want to— when you have heard me, I claim your promise. I swear to you that I will justify this procedure.\" Standreth giggled in the General's ear:

FROM THE PIT. 625 \"'I ACCE1M' FULL RESPONSIBILITY FOR THIS,' HE CRIED. 'I BROUGHT HALLAS HKRE.\" had actually assisted him in the choosing of the jewel that morning. I knew that. The commissionaire had called a cab for Hallas, and heard the address given. The excited Marquis went in chase with a constable. Hallas was overtaken in his cab; was asked to turn out his pockets ; and the pendant was found upon his person. He was instantly given in charge. The fact that he had known of the existence and whereabouts of the jewel, that he had been seen handling the coat, and that—most unfortunately for him—his finan- cial affairs were shown to be at anextremely low ebb just then, condemned him. All the same, he was absolutely innocent. I did not know of the second piece of evidence, but I was acquainted with the first and third that I Vol xlv.-65. have named, and I knew that if the jewel was found upon him Hallas would be ruined. Who put it where it was discovered ? I did. If you press me for a reason I shall be com- pelled to give it; but a lady's name is in- volved. Suffice it now for me to assert that Hallas was as guiltless of the abominable act attributed to him as he was incapable of dreaming of such a thing. Under the mask of friendship I wished to blast him. I might have hesitated had I known what would have happened. His expulsion from the club was my principal idea. \" You know now why I stood up for him at the time. He went to jail, into utter ruin. On a score of occasions I was nearly con- fessing, but cowardice prevailed. That is all

626 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. HALLAS LEAPED AT HIS THROAT. over now. I brought him here that he might face you as a clean, a white man ; and that I might make my confession standing up. \" Do with me as you choose. I won't whine for mercy. But one thing I must do : I have ruined the prospects of the man who called me his friend, and such reparation as I can perform in that way I will carry out to the best of my ability. 1 am at least a wealthy man. If money can remedy, in the smallest fashion, the deadly injury I have done, here is my cheque drawn to the amount of five thousand pounds. I will double—treble it, if you ask me. I have no more to say.\" His voice died away in a husky whisper. With a hand that trembled as a leaf he reached out and placed the cheque on one of the green-tiled tables ; but scarcely had it

FROM THE PIT. 627 fluttered from his fingers when, with the snarl of a wounded animal, Hallas leaped at his throat. It was so sure and sudden a thing that not one of the dumbfounded audience had time to prevent it. The grip held good and true. Both men rolled over and over, upsetting the tables, fighting in the maddest way. A scene of great confusion ensued. Sir Peter flew to the door, retaining presence of mind enough to realize the importance of keeping out the servants. Hallas was torn from his victim. Livid, excited in every palpitating nerve, he could scarcely stand. Marchmont was assisted to his feet. His collar was gone and his dress-coat ripped clean up the back. He glared round with eyes blazing with fright. \" By Heaven, he wanted to kill me!\" he panted. \" Of course he did,\" said General McMuller, the coolest there. \" I have a similar itching at my finger-ends. The best thing you can do is to get out—quick ! \" \" I'm going,\" gasped Marchmont, fighting for breath, feeling his throat. \" I sha'n't run away. You know where—where the police will find me.\" No one tried to stop him. Hallas, that fierce outbreak of passion past, was supported by the arms of two of the members. They helped him into a chair. He put his arms on a table before it, buried his face, and commenced to sob in a dry, husky, terrible manner. Standreth muttered : \" Poor, poor devil ! \" The members looked at one another. No need to exchange thoughts audibly, for each had the same. What a horrible scandal, this ! The first had been bad enough ; but the present development was infinitely worse. Hallas lifted a haggard face and perceived only kind eyes regarding him. He looked ashamed, and blurted : \" A dashed fool— making this exhibition of myself—so sorry \" \" That's all right,\" said Sir Peter, gently. \" As right as rain. Don't you worry.\" \" Has he gone ? \" \" Marchmont ? Yes.\" \" Ah ! What ought I to do about it ? \" asked Hallas, wearily. \" Clear your name, first thing.\" \" I seem to be dreaming. Marchmont did that ? My soul ! There was no finer fellow. The very last man in the world ! I'd like to spare him, even now, for his sake and—and yours ; but I should have to go away and bury myself in some dark hole at the other end of the world. Ah, those fearful years ' And now—now \" A groan ended the sentence. General McMuller murmured to a sympa- thetic ear : \" If this disgrace could only be got over \" \" Impossible.\" Sir Peter Breves went to the fireplace and

628 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \"HE SCRAPU) Ul'TUB SLIP Of 1'Al'ER WITH THE KIRE IMPLEMENT, THEN HELD IT OUT TO HAl.LAS.'' \" And Hallas.\" \" I am glad of it.\" \" They were seen in Paris, at the Gare du Nord, by Fletcher.\" The General removed his cigar as if to stare harder. \" In the buffet, at the Gare.\" \" Not together ? \" Sir Peter's lips, having framed the question, remained wide open. \" Hallas was one side of a table. March- mont the other. Dining; and chatting; and laughing at some -enormous joke.\" The General knocked over the bottle. Sir Peter snatched it up and smashed it down upon the table with a fury that effectu- ally drowned the worst oath he had ever used. Standreth pressed the ash gently from his cigarette. \" An enormous joke,\" he repeated, thoughtfully. \" Possibly the humour of it will extend to us—later. Gentlemen thieves. Of the very first water. Hallas stole that diamond pendant, after all. Marchmont doubtless helped him. That plot failed, and Hallas bore the brunt. He came out. Marchmont had something better. That scene at the club : a dramatic little play arranged between them for their exclusive benefit. 15oth presumably were in a low state financially. Marchmont's cheque worth- less paper. Five thousand pounds of our money divided between two means just two thousand five hundred apiece. What ? Do try these C'garettes, which possess an excep- tionally soothing aroma.\"

Tke Dog Wko Wasn't Wliat He Thougkt He Was. By WALTER EMANUEL. Illustrated by Ernest A. Aris. MONDAY. HIS has been a great day for me. I have left my mother, and have taken a situation. My master is an ugly little fellow named Pretyman. In spite of his conceit, he seems a bit of a fool. Nor has his wife, who is not a bad-looking woman, many brains, I should say. They have a baby—a hideous lump of lard named Chicky. He is aged about a year and a half, and is a bachelor, I believe. Apparently I am to be companion to this. It is not much of a career for me, and whether I shall be able to consort with one who is so immeasurably my intellectual inferior remains to be seen. Besides, now that they have a nice little dog I do not see that they need a baby. They live in a flat, but I should say they are fairly well-to-do. I am not quite sure whether Mr. Pretyman is a gentleman, or whether he earns his living. They have provided a rather handsome kennel for me at the end of a long passage. It seems queer to have a house within a house, but I Copyright, 1913, by am glad to have it, as it gives one the landed proprietor feeling somehow. I daresay I shall be all right here. It is a great thing to be independent at last, and to be free of my fussy old mother and her eternal lectures. Dog-tired after my journey from the country, I slept like a top as soon as I turned in. TUESDAY. Things do not look quite so bright to-day. My kennel, on a more careful inspection, turns out to be a cheap, jerry-built affair. It has no door which I can lock up when I go out— no security whatever, in fact, against dishonest persons. Then my master has given me the absurd name of Gibus, because, he says, my face reminds him of his opera hat when it is shut up. I only know one name more absurd, and that is Chicky. Which reminds me that it is pretty evident that I am intended to play second fiddle to that brat, and I don't intend to do it. Lastly, these ignorant Pretymans don't even know what sort of a dog I am. They were disc-.issing it at break- fast. \" I wonder what he is ? \" said Mrs. P. Walter Emanuel.

630 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \" Yes, I wonder,\" said Mr. P. \" I must find out. Anyhow, it was very kind of Uncle John to give him to us.\" Imagine their not knowing what I am ! And the annoying part of it is that I don't know myself. My mother allowed me to go out into the world without telling me this. I suppose she knew —though I often surprised her staring at me in a puzzled way. I was one of eleven, and every one of us different. My dear mother was very versatile. After breakfast my mistress took me out for my first walk in town. It seems a terrific place. Some of the streets are chock-full of dog-killing vehicles which seem to be shot from catapults. However, they missed me every time. I was pleased to see what extreme care my mistress took of me crossing the road. It showed that she, anyhow, had an idea of my value. We went part of the way in an omnibus, my mistress placing me inside her muff, on her lap, with my head just peeping out. This was rather infra dig., but very comfy. By the by, I was highly amused at a short-sighted old lady opposite who kept staring at me until I thought her little peepers would jump out of her head. Finally she said, \" Well, lawks-a-daisy me, I've never seen a dog like that before ! What a tiny head for such an enormous body ! \" Ultimately we came to a place they call the Park. This was a bit of all right. It had evidently been constructed especially for dogs, and no vehicles were allowed inside, and it was just like the country. It was ripping there, and I scampered and ran about so much that my mistress had the greatest difficulty in keeping up with me at times, especially when I raced with other dogs. Evidently she has not had much training in learning to follow. I did not find the town dogs anything like so stand-offish as I had expected. Lots of them talked to me and proposed games of touch-last, and so forth, especially great big dogs, which pleased me. Many of the small dogs were, frankly, jealous little beasts, and made nasty personal remarks about me, such as \" Who sat on your face ? \" or \" Who's been putting his nose in the ink-pot ? \" Though boiling over with indignation, I treated these with silent con- tempt, but when one or two of the catty little things actually snapped at me I did not know what to do, and I would run to my mistress and she would take me up and, to my huge delight, give the little bullies a sound rap on the nose with her sunshade, and then they would run off yelping. By the way, one of the big dogs who talked to me asked me what I was. I said I was ashamed to say I did not know. \" Are you a thoroughbred ? \" he said. '' Of course,\" I answered. \" Open your mouth and say ' Ah !' \" he said. I did so, and he said,\" No, you're a very nice little fellow, but you ain't a thoroughbred. Thoroughbreds have black roofs to their mouths.\" \" Where can I get one ? \" I asked. \" Oh, you can only get one

THE DOG WHO WASN'T WHAT HE THOUGHT HE WAS. 631 . 'THEY ALL CAME DOWN I.IKE SNOW.\" absurd sight in pyjamas, with a candle. He tried being sort of funny at first. \" Halloa ! \" he says. \" Coals not agreeing with us ? Dear, dear ! Sh-h ! Small people, you know, ought to be seen and not heard.\" I felt inclined to say, \" What about that beastly baby of yours which is crying all day ? \" but I kept on howling instead. Then he tried being tender. \" Now, go to sleep, there's a good Gibus, do.\" But still I howled. Then he raised his hand as though to beat me, but refrained on my growling as well as howling. \" I can't stop him,\" he cried, helplessly, to his wife. \" Try giving him a lump of sugar,\" she said. He went and fetched some sugar. I love sugar. He gave me a lump. \" Now, you really must be quiet,\" he said, \" or we shall have the people upstairs and downstairs complaining.\" I quite saw the importance to him of my being quiet—and, as I have said, I love sugar. So I went on howling. He gave me a second lump. I ate it and con- tinued to howl. When he gave me a third lump I decided that that would do for to-night, and became a good Gibus. Good biz! WEDNESDAY. This has been the day of my life. First I went into my mistress's boudoir and destroyed two extremely pretty cushions.

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. It was grand the mess I made with all the feathers. Then I visited my master's library, and crippled his favourite pipe and tore up a number of letters into thousands of fragments. It was such a pretty effect when I nozzled these up into the air and they all came down like snow. Next I thought of that baby. Why the dickens should he be \" Master \" Chicky and I plain Gibus ? The nursery door chanced to be open, and the brat was alone for once. The miserable quadruped was crawling about the floor with a rattle in his hand and making a stupid crooning noise. He stopped his croon- ing on catching sight of me and stared at me in the rudest way, not even having the common courtesy to pass the time of day to me. Then a broad smile appeared on his ugly face, as though he had never seen such a funny sight as me. At this insult, although he was considerably my senior, I closed with him, and, wrenching his beastly rattle from him, bit it through and through. At this Master Chicky raises such a hullabaloo—never in my life have I heard such yells—that the nurse and his mother come rushing in and make ever such a fuss of the little coward, while I, if you please, am ordered to be beaten ! I can quite see that either I or the lump of lard will have to leave soon. So Mr. Prety- man—to whom, meanwhile, one of the servants had sneaked about the cushions and his pipe and the letters—is fetched with a whip, and the bullying father of a cowardly son gives me a thrashing which really hurts. After that I retired to my kennel and sulked, and reflected what a rotten thing life was; thoughts of suicide even entered my mind, and I would have awfully liked to see mother again. After lunch I felt a bit brighter. And now for the great and glorious tidings. I have found out what I am. I am a blood- hound I This is how I found out. I was lying down in the library after lunch, half-inclined, after all, to renounce my renunciation of coal, when some unaccountable impulse made me look up at the pictures on the wall. They were rather a mixed lot. Some of them good, others, I should say, wedding presents. Suddenly my eye alighted on one which made me start. It was called \" The Bloodhound— After Landseer.\" It was me grou-n-up ! The brow a little nobler, perhaps, the forehead rather more wrinkled, the ears somewhat fuller, the nose a bit longer—but all that would come with time. I was wildly excited. It seemed incredible. I rushed to my mistress's bedroom ; fortunately the door was ajar, and I nozzled my way in and looked in the big glass again. There was no doubt about it. A bloodhound ! Oh, it was grand—too grand for words ! What a difference it makes to my life having a future. I feel that nothing will ever make me lose my temper again. Why, I even found myself disliking the baby less. Indeed, I began to feel quite sorry for him.

THE DOG WHO WASN'T WHAT HE-, THOUGHT HE WAS. 633 Ii: 1 \"I CLOSED WITH HIM AND WRENCHED HIS BEASTLY RATTLE FROM HIM.\" and they were as chummy as ever, and all smiles when I told them my great news. And what was so nice was that I no longer felt that these big chaps were patronising me, but that I was now their equal. The thought was most bracing. I even made a joke with one great, springy fellow, who looked as if he was dressed in ill-fitting black trousers. He came bounding up to me. \" Halloa ! \" I said. \" What are you ? \" \" I'm a bob-tailed sheep-dog, ignoramus,\" he said. \" What ! \" I said. \" Surely you never gave a bob for that little, tiny stump of a tail ? \" \" And, pray, what are you ? \" he asked, without relaxing a muscle. \" Blood- hound,\" I said. Then, and not till then, did he laugh loudly at my joke. Oh, my spirits Vol. xlv.-66. were wonderful; so much so that I cared not a rap for the nasty remarks of the small dogs—the riff-raff. The bloodhound breed are above noticing petty insults. On my way home the most pleasing inci- dent of the entire day happened. I was sniffing the heels of a working man as he walked along when suddenly he kicked out and cried to my mistress,\" 'Ere, miss, call your blood'ound off of me. I don't want to be bit.\" Now, the lower classes are doggy to a man, and this man knew. Curiously, my mistress, who called me to her, did not seem to realize the significance of the remark ; but, as for myself, I was more than delighted. If confirmation were needed here it was ! Indeed, I was so bucked up that I took

634 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \"SURELY YOU NEVER CAVE A BOB FOR THAT LITTLE, TINY STUMP OF A TAIL?\" quite quietly what would have ordinarily thrown me into a paroxysm of rage. In my absence someone had cleaned out my kennel. It was a confounded impertinence. Gone were all my little savings, including several bones of considerable value. This was scarcely the way to encourage thrift, but I said nothing. Most of the rest of the day I passed in the library opposite the Landseer picture, which I gazed at from time to time. What mean- looking creatures men were compared with him ! Mr. Pretyman noticed the alteration in me. \" How that dog's improving,\" he said. \" It must have been the thrashing I gave him yesterday.\" Blind fool ! FRIDAY. Black Friday. All is over. I am undone, and have no wish to live. It was raining in the morning, and my mistress said, \" No walk to-day,\" and so I was left to my own devices. There was one room in the house which I had been forbidden to enter. It was my master's dressing-room. Now, no dog can ever settle down and get the restful feeling until he has thoroughly explored his sur- roundings. The door of the dressing-room was open, and the devil tempted me. I entered. I am a dog of few and simple tastes. One of them is shoes. Pulling shoes to pieces and eating bits of them is a passion with me. I like them best when there are feet in them, as they squeak then when you bite them. But even when they are empty I love them. As soon as I was in the room I discovered why it had been forbidden me. It contained my master's larder. On the shelves of a cupboard, which happened to be open, were as many, I should say, as thirty pairs of boots and shoes ! I was on them like a hawk. One pair—brown leather—disagreed with me. My own idea is that they had been poisoned. My master is just the sort of man to wear poisoned shoes. I remember now that there was a peculiar taste about them. Soon after sampling them I was overtaken by agonizing pains in my underneath. I managed to crawl to my kennel, where I was violently sick. But the gripey pains still continued, and my groai.s soon brought my mistress to see me. With woman's instinct

THE DOG WHO WASN'T WHAT HE THOUGHT HE WAS. 635 she realized at once that I was seriously ill. Indeed, her concern was quite pretty to behold. She consulted her husband and per- suaded him to send for the vet. \" And we mustn't forget to ask him, when he is here, what sort of dog it is,\" said my master. \" He'll know.\" Of course he would, for vets. are experts. The thought that my master and mistress would soon know the truth about me had a wonderful effect on me, and I began to feel better at once. I longed to see the effect of the revelation. One result seemed pretty certain to me. I should be transferred to the bassinet, and that rotten baby would be put in my kennel. It was a long time before the vet. came. Would that he had never come ! They brought him to my kennel. The brute dragged me out with scant ceremony, and held me up by the loose skin at the back of my neck. \" Nothing much the matter with him,\" he said, \" except that he's been a bit careless in his diet. All puppies are greedy little devils.\" Polite, I thought, saying this before me. \" I'll send him some physic,\" he said. \" Oh, and doctor,\" said my mistress, \" what sort of dog is he ? Will he be a big dog ? \" Now for the sensational disclosure, I thought, and I wagged my tail violently. The vet. looked at me in his arrogant way. Then he spoke with deliberation. \" Well, I daresay he's a very nice little fellow,\" he said, \" and I expect you are fond of him; but he's the most terrible little mongrel there ever was, and he's full size now. His value, I should say, is exactly twopence-halfpenny. Halloa ! \" he added, a second later. \" I've never known a dog to do that before. I believe he has swooned.\" They brought me round with some difficulty, and I am beginning to feel better now, but I think I would rather die. For I shall never, never be able to face my friends again. Oh, the difference — the cruel difference—between yesterday and to-day ! What does life hold for me now ? Nothing—- absolutely nothing. I am a dog without a future. Why live ? Indeed, a few minutes ago I had made up my mind to starve myself to death, and I would have done so, only I found myself getting so beastly hungry. I must think things out. I wish I could see my mother. Oh, it's a difficult world for little dogs ! \"OH, IT'S A DIFFICULT WORLD FOR HfTLK DOGS ! \"

Hester Cromartie Rises to tne Occasion. By MARY TENNYSON. Illustrated by J. Campbell. HE weather was certainly unmitigatedly wretched — worse than could have been expected in the third week of a hitherto gloriously fine October. Rain fell in torrents, and to make the climatic misery complete, all day a thick, depressing darkness had hung over the western suburbs, which even a very high wind had failed to disperse. About the worst evening for a social func- tion that could possibly be imagined ; > nd as Hester Cromartie, novelist, wandered from room to room in her well-appointed house at Bedford Park, her charming face was shadowed by an ominous frown. Two months ago Hester had removed from Kensington to her present far larger quarters, and this was the occasion of her first evening \" At Home.\" A week previously she had been \" At Home \" in the afternoon, and had been secretly dis- appointed at the very scanty number of visitors who had attended her reception, for hitherto she had been a most popular hostess. She was scarcely a brilliant conversa- tionalist, but she had the talent of putting people at ease with each other, and of bringing those together who had interests in common ; she was, moreover, very sympathetic, and altogether, as her acquaintances declared, could be relied upon to make things go, and her little rooms at Kensington had been as a rule quite inconveniently crowded when she entertained. Indeed, it was her increasing social success, as much as her literary pros- perity, that had induced her to move into the larger house. But on the Wednesday afternoon scarcely a dozen people had responded to her invita- tion, and now her anticipations with regard to the evening were of the very gloomiest description. Though her countenance lacked its usual happy, kindly serenity, Hester Cro- martie appeared a very beautiful, distinguished woman as she walked lestlessly to and fro. She was exquisitely gowned ; indeed, at the back of her mind this very gown weighed rather heavily upon her spirits. As a rule, she was not extravagant, except possibly with regard to the various charities to which she gave more freely than her circumstance* warranted. She was, indeed, eager to assist anyone who enlisted her ready sympathies, and if she had the money in hand took no thought of the future; but she had been tempted in this matter of the gown. She had just received a substantial cheque from the publisher of her last book, and she had desired to look her very best on the occasion of her evening house-warming, for in her new surroundings she felt that she had now an artistic background which would enhance the beauty of any frock.

HESTER CROMARTIE RISES TO THE OCCASION. 637 didn't sell it—well, she had only a tiny balance at the bank now; she wasn't a quick worker, and she certainly had no fresh subject. Perhaps the move had been a mistake. She was sorry she had left Kensing- ton. But things had seemed to promise so well. dining-room. The refreshment-table was sumptuously provided and was a delight to the eye, \\vith its display of beautiful old china, and Hester again drew down the corners of her sensitive mouth as she roughly estimated the cost of the pink and yellow \"'WHAT A FOOL I MUST BE TO THINK OF EVERYTHING THAT'S DISAGREEABLE AT SUCH A MOMENT AS THIS !' SHE CRIED, ALOUD.\" Impatiently she shook herself, and the electric light twinkled and flashed on the jewelled trimming on hci lovely gown. \" What a fool I must be to think of every- thing that's disagreeable at such a moment as this ! \" she cried, aloud. \" Mercy on me ! \"—catching sight of herself in a mirror. \" I look a very grim sort of person for this diaphanous, fairy-like apparel.\" With rather a forced smile she left the drawing-room, and, crossing the cosily- furnished hall, entered the oak-panelled roses which decked it and were banked on the mantelpieces of both of the reception-rooms, as well as that of the hall. Around the table were collected her three maid-servants in the smartest of embroidered aprons and caps, but the faces of all reflected her own uneasiness, and as she glanced silently from one to the other a squall of wind sent the rain in a noisy, disheartening torrent against the windows. Without a word the lady went back to the drawing-room and resumed her pacing up and

638 THE STRAXD MAGAZINE. \"'IT'S STILL POURING, MISS,' THE PARLOUR-MAID KK.MAKKF.H. DON'T LOOK A BIT LIKE LIFTING.' 'I'VE PUT MY HEAD OUT; IT down. The invitation had been from eight to eleven - thirty. It was half-past eight now. \" It is a disgusting night,\" she muttered, \" and I don't believe anyone will come. Well, it only shows what personal popularity amounts to, after all. People will crowd your rooms when it gives them no trouble, but move out a couple of miles or so, and they neglect you altogether. It is too humiliating, really ! 1 feel a perfect idiot in this ridiculous get-up.\" Again she went into the hall, and encoun- tered the parlour-maid carrying the big plated tea-urn, followed by the housemaid bearing, with a deprecating countenance, the silver tray on which stood the glittering Georgian coffee service. Miss Cromartie had ordered that tea should be ready at eight- fifteen. It was now twenty minutes later than that. \" It's still pouring, miss,\" the parlour-maid remarked. \" I've put my head out; is don't look a bit like lifting—the wind it cutting. They may well call these the

HESTER CROMART1E RISES TO THE OCCASION. 639 obnoxious gales. And you can hardly see across the road. I'm beginning to think we sha'n't have no one here to-night. You see, this house is beyond the radius, and \" \" There are such things as taxis, Morton ; they take no count of the radius,\" Hester interposed, irritably. Morton was an old and trusted servant, but Hester resented the sympathy expressed in her most respectable countenance. \" Besides, it's only half-past eight, after all.\" \" It's more than that, miss,\" Morton per- sisted, \" and it do seem a shame, that it do ! Cook wants to know what she's to do about the ices, miss; there's such a lot of 'em. She says the pantry here is none too cool. The kitchen fire seems to warm it up, somehow. I think, so does cook, the pantry is a legular weak spot in this house •\" \" Oh, Morton, for pity's sake, don't worry about the pantry now,\" Hester cried, and Morton responded, hurriedly :— \" No, I won't, miss, and you so bothered with no one coming, and all this expense and trouble.\" \" Why should you make up your mind no one is coming ? \" Hester queried, angrily. \" You know yourself my evenings have been very popular.\" \" Oh, yes, in Kensington, miss; that's different. I was always afraid Bedford Park would seem a bit of a come-down. Me and cook thinks it's that. You're just the same, miss; don't you worry about that. But what am I to say about the ices ? They are melting quick in the pantry, and yet it seems as cold as Christmas up here, don't it ? \" And then Hester began to laugh, not by any means a merry laugh, but she had a quick sense of humour, and she could not help seeing grim fun in her maid's attempt to raise her depressed spirits. \" We'll wait till nine, Morton,\" she said, \" and then you and the other girls go and eat as much slushy ice as you dare. I feel more like hot brandy and water, myself.\" \" Lor', Miss Hester ! and you who can't bear the smell of anything of the sort,\" the woman exclaimed in dismay ; \" you've caught cold in that dress, miss, and no wonder; your bare shoulders, such a night as this, give me the shivers.\" And at that reassuring remark Hester laughed almost hysterically ; she had imagined she looked quite nice, and she was still laughing, much to the discomfort of Morton, who was not in any way deceived by her mistress's mirth, when suddenly there came a knock at the door. The four women stifled an exclamation, but the housemaid waited until her lady had disappeared quickly into the drawing-room before she opened the door, and let in a blast of wind and rain that almost took away her breath. Hester Cromartie listened keenly, but though she heard Morton's voice raised in fussy sympathy, she could not identify the

640 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. away, and silently inviting her to a com- fortable chair, Hester walked to the fire, and occupied herself with an utterly unnecessary rearrangement of the blazing coals, while she strained her ears for the sound of approaching foot teps o; vehicles. If only someone else would come ! She felt in danger of losing her temper with this wearisome woman, and that would be too dreadful. One visitor, and such a visitor, was far, far worse than none at all. At half-past nine, had she been alone, she could have slipped out of that mockery of a gown, and have settled down comfortably with the new book everyone was talking of. But now she would have to drag through two hours at least with this dull, depressing woman. What on earth induced her to ask Miss Pearson at all ? she thought, poking viciously at the fire. And then she remembered, and bit her pouting lips. Miss Pearson was a neighbour, and she had been told was an admirer of her stories - that was why she had sent her an invitation. Self-conceit, then, was at the bottom of her hospitality. Well, she was being punished, any way. It really was too horrid for words. However, she couldn't go on poking the fire all night - she wished she could ; it was a sort of relief to bang away at something ; but the fire was already roaring almost dangerously, and the heat was shrivelling the roses on the mantel. Flinging down the poker, she turned quickly. \" Oh, let us go in to tea,\" she said. \" Why should we wait ? Besides\"—with a sudden sense of compunction —\" after that terribly cold wind you will be glad of some hot coffee or tea. I ought to have thought of that at once. I'm sorry. Oh, dear,\" she continued, with a nervous laugh, \" you and I are a pair of regular grumblers, aren't we ? \" \" I'm stupid, I'm afraid ; I don't under- stand you,\" Miss Pearson responded, uneasily. \" Why, we are too sorrowful for words, both of us. Sorry, sorry, sorry, that's all we seem able to say.\" \" Oh, I'm sor \" and then Miss Pearson flushed crimson. \" There, I told you so,\" Hester cried, with a laugh; \" we've got into the habit, we actually can't help it.\" She crossed to the dining-room, and the elder woman, following, gazed with wistful admiration at the graceful figure in its lovely, glistening gown ; but in the faces of the servants, whom their entrance stirred into activity, she read the same latent dissatisfaction at her presence that she had discerned so plainly in that of her beautiful hostess, and a sudden sense of unfamiliar pity for herself almost overwhelmed her. Why had she come ? It was an unreasonable impulse that had sent her out that night to battle with the storm. But she had yearned to get away from herself, she had felt she actually must do so.

HESTER CROMARTIE RISES TO THE OCCASION, 641 \" The best ? \" Miss Pearson faltered, with her eyes averted. \" Yes, to be sure, the best,\" the other went on, cheerfully. \" See here, this is what I suggest. Let us go back into the drawing- room and have a comfy little table right in front of the fire, and enjoy our tea cosily there.\" The wan woman by her side looked up shrinkingly into the smiling, charming face, and again her cheeks were suffused with the painful crimson flush. \" I think I would rather go home,\" she said, with difficulty ; \" you would naturally much prefer to be alone, and—and—I'm afraid I'm really not quite well enough to have come out. You will understand,\" she continued, with some dignity, \" I never thought of forcing a icle-a-lcte upon you, Miss Cromartie. I fancied I should be able to sit in a corner quietly and look on, and that the bright, pretty scene might do me good and be pleasant to remem- ber. But now I will ask you to be so kind as to let me go home.\" \" Oh, no, no ! \" Hester cried, greatly stirred. \" Please, please stay and keep me company. Oh, don't desert me ; if you go you will make me perfectly miserable.\" \" Is that the truth, Miss Cromartie ? \" \" Indeed, indeed it is. If you go I shall feel more ashamed than I have ever felt in my life. And I shall have more cause. I couldn't blame you,\" she continued, with a break in her eager voice ; \" you would punish me rightly. But do. do stay. Honest Injun, it is the truth. Be magnanimous ; come into the drawing-room and let us be a cosy, comfortable couple.\" Hester Cromartie was almost startled at the beauty of the smile which suddenly lit up her companion's plain face, rendering it in comparison almost beautiful. \" Why, of course I will come,\" she responded. \" I should like to do so.\" And presently, refreshed and strangely comforted—for Hester spared no pains to make tardy amends for what she now con- sidered her most detestable ungraciousness ii the reception of her visitor—Anne Pearson gazed round the pretty room and at the charming woman opposite to her with a sigh of pleasure. \" This is better—far better than I ex- pected,\" she said. \" Better, how ? \" Hester asked, smiling. \" Why, to have you all to myself, to be sure. But that's horribly selfish, isn't it ? \" \" I don't know,\" 'Hester continued, with a laugh. \" It's very complimentary, any way.\" \\ol. x|v.-07. \" For instance,\" Miss Pearson went on, \" you wouldn't have troubled to decorate your rooms so lavishly if you had only expected me, or to put on that most lovely gown ; and yet I.am very glad you did.\" \" If you are glad I am quite repaid,\" Hester responded, heartily. \" I will admit to you, half an hour ago I felt a little like a dressed-up

642 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \" To-morrow ! \" \" Yes, I start at ten o'clock.\" Hester watched her uneasily. \" Is there anything I can do ?\" she asked, \" anything in the world ? Oh, I should be so glad if you would let me help.\" \" No, no, my dear,\" Miss Pearson answered, quickly, \" there is nothing. I never meant to tell you anything of my worries; I answered your question involuntarily. You see, I live alone, and I am not a woman to make friends, and your voice was so sweet ; it seemed for once to ease me to speak. Now let us talk of something else.\" And then Hester Cromartie rose to the occasion. Crossing to Miss Pearson's side and bending over her, she kissed the faded cheek. \" Talk to me about yourself,\" she whispered. \" I want to know you. I want you to be my friend.\" And as the evening passed, Hester won- dered that she had hitherto been blind to the curious attraction of the plain woman by her side. It is true on former occasions when they had met they had only exchanged greetings, but how came it that no one had told her of Miss Pearson's conversational abilities ? The explanation did not occur to Hester, which was that her companion needed drawing out, and that she herself had a rare talent in this direction. Miss Pearson's experiences had been varied and exciting, and led on by Hester's eager, skilful questions, the usually reticent, retiring woman spoke with almost thrilling enthusiasm of the scenes through which she had passed in her work among the very poor. She was evidently a heroine in her way, but one who shrank from public notice, and presently, in the middle of an anecdote, she stopped abruptly, and Hester exclaimed :— \" I remember that incident: it was reported in the papers, wasn't it ? \" \" Why, yes,\" the other answered, nervously. \" And didn't the brute strike you when you defended the child ? \" \" Yes, but he was drunk, poor wretch.\" \" Oh, how awful for you ! \" Hester cried. \" Were you much hurt ? \" The other flushed hotly. \" That happened three years ago,\" she replied, quickly. \" You dragged that story out of me. You make one speak against one's will. Now we will talk no more of the world's misery. Tell me about your work. I love your books. They have heartened me so often,\" Presently the clock in the hall chimed the hour, and Miss Pearson rose. \" Oh, you are not going yet ! \" Hester exclaimed ; \" don't leave me in solitary glory. It's only ten o'clock.\" \" It's eleven, my dear,\" Miss Pearson said, with a smile. \" No, surely not! \" \" It is, and I must go, for I have some

HESTER CROMARTIE RISES TO THE OCCASION. 643 Pearson cried, lifting her face to the glory. \" I shall remember this, too ! \" \" And you will be sure to send for me ? \" Hester said, almost wistfully. \" You shall hear from me,\" the other answered, kissing her once more. \" I promise you shall hear from me. Now good-night, and again, God bless you.\" on it was the date of the Wednesday in the following week. At the time these invitations had been sent out Hester had been engrossed in her book, and the matter had been entrusted to a young girl clerk who had been suddenly thrown out of work, and who had applied to the novelist for assistance. \"I MUST GO, FOR I HAVE SOME WRITING TO L>O TO-NIGHT.\" Hester watched until Miss Pearson had turned the corner, and then, with a thoughtful but happy face, she closed the door, and, recrossing the hall, her eye was attracted by a card lying upon one of the Oriental rugs. Picking it up, she looked carelessly at it, and then •. he uttered an exclamation of astonish- ment. It was Miss Pearson's card of invita- tion, which she had evidently dropped, and \" My word ! \" Morton cried. \" The wrong date ! What a cruel shame ! This explains everything, then.\" \" Not everything,\" Hester replied. \" How was it Miss Pearson came ? \" \" Oh, she knew it was this Wednesday. Her housemaid and I often has a chat; we deal at all the same shops. I don't suppose she ever looked at the date on the card. She's rather

644 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. a stupid sort of body, they say. Well, miss, it lias been a downright failure, that it has ! \" \" It has been the biggest success I've ever known ! \" Hester cried, with sparkling eyes. \" I feel more happy than I can say, to-night. I have made a friend, a real friend, one whom I can love and honour, too, and there are not too many of such in the world, Morton. Come, cheer up,\" she continued, laughing at the maid's astonished face. \" We shall have to repeat this festive scene next Wednesday. Not the roses, though ; I can't rise to such heights as that two weeks following.\" \" And all them lovely flowers has been wasted on Miss Pearson !'' Morton exclaimed, dolefully. And then Hester's smile grew very sweet. \" Wasted ? \" she repeated, softly. \" Scarcely wasted, Morton.\" And at eight o'clock the next Wednesday Hester, gowned as before, was seated in the drawing-room when a telegram was brought to her. \" Come to me at once,\" it ran. \" Don't delay—Anne Pearson,\" and the address was that of a nursing home in Devonshire Street. Her face suddenly paling, Hester Cromartie rose hurriedly. \" Get me a taxi at once ; there are plenty at the station,\" she said. \" And tell Emma to bring me my fur cloak.\" Morton stared open-mouthed at her mistress. \" A taxi now, miss ? \" she cried. \" Why, it's eight o'clock ! \" \" What does that matter ? \" Hester de- manded, impatiently. \" I must go now at once. Hurry, hurry, Morton ! \" \" Oh, my word, miss, what's come to you ? Go where ? \" \" To Miss Pearson. Morton, she must be ill. She has sent for me.\" \" Well, but, miss,\" Morton continued, deprecatingly, \" people will be here in a minute or two. Besides, you can't go off dressed like that.\" \" The gown will not show under the cloik. Hurry, Morton ! I said 1 would come at once at any time.\" \" But the visitors, miss ? \" \" Oh, say what you like to them ; send them away ; do anything,\" Hester replied, distractedly. \" Oh, Morton, dear woman, hurry! \" And when Hester entered the sick-room, and with a stifled cry fell on her knees by the side of the bed, Anne Pearson's pallid, worn face was suddenly illumined by her rare smile. Two hours later Hester went out from the room with the tears coursing quickly down her cheeks. Anne Pearson had sent for her to bid her good-bye, and to tell her that she had bequeathed to her every farthing of her rather considerable fortune. No one had a claim upon her, and she had made her will on leaving Hester the previous Wednesday night.

HESTER CROMART1E RISES TO THE OCCASION. 6+.S Anne Pearson did not reply in words, but she put her arm tenderly round Hester's slender figure, and the other, looking into her face, suddenly cried out:— \" Shall we live together ? Is that what you drawing-room was banked with sweet-scented roses. But the friends were quite alone. \" You silly woman,\" Anne Pearson said, lovingly, \" to have wasted your money on those roses.\" \"'DEAR!' HESTER WHISPERED, TENDERLY. 'OH, MY DKAR, DON'T LEAVE ME. LIVE IOR ME.'\" mean ? Oh, say that's what you mean—do —do say it ! \" And on the anniversary of that stormy October night, for the last time Hester wore the glittering robe, and the mantel in the \" Every year on this day I will waste my money in the same way,\" Hester cried, with glistening eyes. \" It is a festival, Anne, a festival that I will never neglect. It is to do honour to the day I found my friend ! \"

THE SORT OP WOMAN A MAN LIKES A Symposium or the Opinions or \\Vell-known Novelists. Illustrated by Alfred Leete. >J a recent number of THE STRAND MAGAZINE we pub- lished a collection of the opinions of lady novelists on \" The Sort of Man a Woman Likes.\" The symposium created such widespread inte- rest among members of both sexes that we now give the opinions of many of our leading novelists on \" The Sort of \\Voman a Man Likes.\" ROBERT H1CHENS. Men like all kinds of women. There are ugly men who adore beautiful women, but there are also handsome men who worship at the shrines of women who are quite unlike Helen of Troy. Many good men have loved, and will love, bad women. Who has not seen bad men devoted to saintly women ? On the other hand, the dwarf is often captivated by the large-framed woman whose head approaches the ceiling. I have known deaf women beloved by talkative men; lame women cherished by men who were agile; stupid women thought sensible, or even clever, by men who were brilliant: affected women solemnly admired by the most natural of men ; girls who turned the heads of grandfathers, and old women who lured mere boys to their feet. Effeminate men often seek \" manny\" women, while the delicate woman who never leaves the sofa attracts the Nimrod

THE SORT OF WOMAN A MAN LIKES. 647 and the hunter of big game. The man who does not know \" God Save the King \" when he hears it as often as not marries the woman who is \" mad about Wagner,\" and the man who never goes to church chooses as his helpmate the devout woman who visits a \" district\" and teaches in Sunday- school. All kinds of women are liked —nay, more, are loved by men. Why not ? For where is the man who cannot find one woman—if not two—to think him what he probably thinks himself, the most perfect man in the world— until the honeymoon is waning ? W. B. MAXWELL. The woman an ordinary man likes best is the one he wants in his dreams— the ineffably sweet shadow who takes colour, substance, life, while the uncon- trolled circuits of his brain flash their memories, hopes, and imaginations; who smiles and comes nearer and nearer as he beckons and longs ; who enters the haven of his arms with a sigh of rap- ture, and who at the same supreme moment fades or flames into nothingness because a servant is knocking at a bed- room-door and saying that the dull, every-day round has begun again. Outside of dreams we ordinary men want a woman who is so pretty that we are always proud, and so good that we are never uneasy ; a woman who wears well and looks her best in two-year-old gowns ; who considers the entrance-fees of men's clubs reasonable and the price of ostrich feathers iniquitous ; who em- ploys the adjective \" important \" in relation to our work, our food, and our desire for unfettered holidays; who laughs at our small jokes and preserves a marble face when we are scored off by others; with whom we have the massively comforting sensation that she will never now recognize the plain, star- ing fact that we are not brave, not wise, not kind, not clever; who goes on loving us grandly, without thought of the ugly past and without fear of the empty future, just as little girls love their broken dolls, as mothers love their dis- graced children, as angels love the wingless worms that they see far down below when they look out of God's great window—and the astounding, incredible thing is that, wanting all that, we sometimes get it. liTHE DWARF IS OFTEN CAI'TIVATEI) Itv THE LARGE-FRAMED WOMAN WHOSE HEAD APPROACHKS THE CEILING.\"

643 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. JOSEPH HOCKING. In answering your question as to the kind of woman a man likes, I am thinking not of the kind of creature who, by a pretty face and smart talk, may have a passing attraction, but of those more enduring qualities which he desires in the woman with whom he has to spend his life ; and I can per- haps best deal with that by first mentioning the kind of woman which, according to my experi- ence, a man does not like. He doesn't like a political woman, and on the whole has very little sympathy with the suffragette order, who is willing to sacrifice woman's superiority to man in order to become his equal. He doesn't like women who would seek to avoid the duties and joys of motherhood, or who regard domestic duties as something to be shunned. He doesn't like a woman who has little or no love for home, and who, as a consequence, would be anything but a helpmate to him in the stress and storm of life. Man's ideal o,f woman- hood, as far a$ I know men, is suggested by the old-fashioned word \" womanliness.\" She is a sympathetic companion, one who desires to share in the joys and sorrows of her husband. She is a lover of home and child- ren, and finds her greatest joys by her own fireside. She is far removed from the creature whose main thought is her own pleasure. Whether she is intellectual or not I do not think of great importance, but she must be pure in heart and life, and, like Dickens's Agnes, hers must be \" the hand that ever points upward.\" COULSON KERNAHAN. To describe, in a few lines, the kind of \\voman a man likes might well give pause to a Shakespeare, or, in our own century, to a Meredith; for no one man can speak for all men. All he can essay is to describe the woman who most appeals to him, in which case, fortunately—for there would be un- pleasantness were we all to fall in love with the same woman—the diversity of opinion will be as \" infinite \" as Cleopatra's \" variety.\" HE DOESN'T I.IKE A POLITICAL WOMAN.\" Were I asked to indicate the woman a man is likely to marry, I should have to admit that, in many cases, propinquity—the

THE SORT OF WOMAN A MAN LIKES. 649 / \"A LOVER OK HOME AND CHILDREN.\" engagements are made in the back parlour, woman that the majority of men like may with the gas so low that a fellow doesn't be dark or fair, tall or short, plump or slim, really get a square look at what he's taking.\" so long as she is, before all things, womanly. But in the matter of falling in love I agree She need not be clever, provided that she is with my friend, Mr. Max Pemberton. The clever enough to understand, to sympathize \"THERE WOULD BE UNPLEASANTNESS WERE WE ALL TO FALL IN LOVE WITH THE SAMK WOMAN.\" Vol. xiv.- ea

650 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 'ONE'S SISTER'S PEST FRIEND.\" with, and to idealize the man of her choice ; and in some inexplic- able way as magnetically to be \" thrown \" to him as he is mag- netically drawn to her. There must be between the two that subtle and mysterious attraction—an attrac- tion alike of the senses and of the spirit — which we call love, but which, after aeons of love-making and marrying, we do not to this day apprehend. MAX PEMBERTON. Chiefly a womanly woman. She must be the only woman in all the world for him, and he must lie conscious of the fact. It is quite impossible for one man to con- vince another that any particular type of beauty is an element in the mystery of love. The appeal is from the soul of the woman to the soul of the man. Nevertheless, it is the quality of womanhood, of gentleness, and patience, and capacity to love that is the supreme thing. CLAUDE ASKEW. This is a question upon which it is very hard to generalize. A man may like a woman as a friend who is utterly different in type from the woman he chooses for his wife. Physical attraction may draw him one way, mental attraction another. I should say, then, that the kind of woman a man must like best— if he is lucky enough to find her— is she who appeals to him physically and mentally, and who is clever enough to keep her grip in both directions. She may not neces- sarily have the same attraction for others, but she is the right woman for that man. More broadly speaking. I should say there is no quality that endears a woman so much to a man as that of real and spontaneous sympathy. E. TEMPLE THURSTON. The kind of woman a man likes is the woman who can minister to his selfishness without obliterating herself, who can listen tohis egotism without making him feel he is monopolizing the conversation, who

THE SORT OF WOMAN A MAN LIKES. 651 can clothe his thousand faults with the desire to win to his few virtues ; she who can be mother and child, mistress and wife, friend and counsellor to his countless inconsistencies. F. FRANKFORT MOORE. I fancy that the kind of woman a man likes is the kindest of womankind. There is scarcely an animal in the brute creation that cannot be subdued by kindness, and man is the head of the brute creation, and one of the most easily subdued by the woman who is invari- ably kind, even when she is m a r r i e d—as every woman is —to the wrong man. My e x p e r i- ence has long ago led me to believe that a man is rarely influenced in his liking for a woman by her possession of any other quality. Though she speak with the tongues of angels and have not kindness, she is to him but as a tinkling symbol of loquacity, in- stead of being the realization. The fewer the tongues that she speaks with the more he likes her. She should confine herself to the language of the angels if she wishes to be liked by men. The women who are liked least by 'THK WOMAN WHO IS INVARIABLY KIND. men are those who try to speak with the tongues of men, and the greater the success of their efforts in this direction the less they are liked by men. I plump for the woman who is kind. Men do not want a polyglot; they want one who will put the kettle on. TOM GALLON. This is sa