The Strand 1913-10 Vol_XLVI №274 October mich

THE MOST IMPRESSIVE SIGHT I EVER SAW. VIL—Miss Ellen Terry. VIII.—Sir Hiram Maxim. IX.—Chevalier Ginistrelli. In this striking series of articles a number of eminent men and women have consented to describe \" the most impressive sight\" they have ever seen. Their stories, as will be realized by the following examples, will be of the most varied and, in many cases, thrilling kind. VII. My Jubilee Celebration at Drury Lane in 1906. By ELLEN TERRY. Illustrated by A. DAVIDSON. N a very crowded life I don't think that I have ever seen a sight which has made quite so deep an impression on me as the recognition by the public and by my profession of my stage jubilee in 1906. The matinte given in my honour by my brother and sister artistes was, indeed, a truly wonderful sight. And I appreciated it all the more deeply because all the time I knew perfectly well that this moving show of honour and \" friending \" was not really for me at all. Never for a single instant did I forget that the honour was not mine alone, but that I was only sharing it with the great man with whom I had worked for over a quarter of a century. Quite a short time before his death, in 1905, Henry Irving had told me that he understood that \" they \"—the members of the theatrical profession—were thinking of \" celebrating our jubilee.\" He had also remarked that there would be a great performance at Drury Lane, but after his death, largely, I think, because I could not bear to let my thoughts rest on such a possibility as a jubilee celebra- tion without my dear friend, I thought no more of the matter. But at last the great day arrived, and every moment of it I enjoyed to the full. And yet to a certain extent I was acting a pare, for, as I gazed on the brilliant spectacle at Drury Lane's historical old theatre, my thoughts were dwelling all the time on Henry Irving's last days. I remembered how his health had first begun to fail in 1896. How, after the first night of a revival of \" Richard III.\" he had slipped on the stairs, painfully injuring his knee, and how, with that cheerful fortitude which never left him, he had struggled to his feet and walked to his room, declaring that \" it was nothing.\" And yet that \" nothing\" kept him from acting for weeks. I recalled, too, a visit I paid him at Wolver- hampton at a time when the end of his life was near at hand indeed. As I gazed on that wonderful scene at Drury Lane I remembered that I had arrived late at Wolverhampton, that I could not get a room at any good hotel, and that the next morning I could not even find a good florist. At last I did find a florist, but he dealt chiefly in white flowers —funeral flowers. And I had wanted seme bright-coloured ones. Then the talk I had had with the doctor came back to me. He had told me quite

\"AND AS I STOOD THERE IN DRURY LANE THEATRE I ALMOST FELT THAT IRVING, TOO, WAS PRESENT.\" Vol. xlvi.—53.

416 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. hanging loosely, like some grey drapery, about his frail yet majestically-dignified figure, sitting up in bed, drinking his coffee. It was a moving moment, and at first we said but little. Then he remarked : \" I'm glad you've come. Two Queens have been kind to me this morning. Queen Alexandra telegraphed to say how sorry she was I was ill, and now My eyes filled with tears at his words, and for fear that he should see my emotion I turned towards the window as I read the Queen's gracious message. And then we fell to talking about all sorts of things : about what he had been doing and I had been doing. About his work and my work. He told me how he had fallen over a rug in front of the door, of how he had been picked up by a commercial traveller, a kindly fellow, who afterwards wanted to sit up and talk to him all night. All the time the maiinte was going on. But still my thoughts continued to usurp complete control over my memory. All the time I was sitting by Henry's bedside in his hotel at Wolverhampton. I tried to bring myself back again to Drury Lane. But it was not to be. \" You are sharing this honour with him,\" said my thoughts, \" so come back with us to Wolverhampton.\" And back again I went. Every word of that never-to-be-forgotten conversation stood out in golden capital letters in my memory. \" What a wonderful life you've led ! \" How well I remembered that remark—and Henry's reply. \" Oh, yes,\" he had said, quietly, \" a wonderful life—of work.\" \" And there's nothing better, after all, is there ? \" \" Nothing,\" he had said, earnestly. \" What have I got out of it ? \" A slight smile crossed Henry's face, as he replied, thoughtfully, \" Well—a good cigar, a good glass of wine—good friends.\" And at that he had kissed my hand with his never-failing courtesy. And as I stood there in Drury Lane Theatre I almost felt that he, too, was present. The memory of those moments was so real, so wonderfully real. \" A good summing-up,\" I had said. \" But the end—how would you like that to come ? \" For a full half-minute he had sat silent, and then, of a sudden, he had snapped his fingers—the action before the words, as was his invariable habit. \" Like that!\" And then I recalled how, not long before his death in 1905, he had told me that there would be a monster performance at Drury Lane, and that already—this was some time before the actual matinee took place—the profession were planning what form it should take. And now I was gazing on that very performance which was to have been given, not in my, but in \" our \" honour; for, had Henry Irving lived, he would have completed his sixty years on the stage in the autumn of 1906. In this way my thoughts carried me along at their will, through first one, then another, and still another and another never-to-be-

THE MOST IMPRESSIVE SIGHT I EVER SAW. 4i7 VIII. The Destruction of tne fc Covered Bridge. \" By SIR HIRAM MAXIM. Illustrated by C. Cuneo. In the winter of 1858, when I was eighteen the next morning I found that much of the years of age, I attended the winter term snow had melted during the night. I could of school at Abbott Lower Village, in the not understand it. The rainfall was very State of Maine. The school had finished, and slight, and appeared to be quite as cold as \"I TURNED AND LOOKBD BACK, AND AT THAT VERY INSTANT THE OPPOSITE END FELL INTO THE RACING TORRENT, AND THE WHOLE WENT OVER THE CATARACT.\" I had gone back to resume my apprenticeship in the carriage works of Daniel Flint. It had been an extremely severe winter, and the snow-fall had been very great, so that the fences dividing the farms were quite obliterated. The clear blue ice in the ponds and rivers was fully three feet thick, and was covered with from three to four feet of snow-ice quite as hard, but not quite transparent. At last the weather moderated ; there was a strong south wind, accompanied by rain, and I noticed that the snow had the appear- ance of steaming. By evening there had been a very perceptible melting of the snow, and the snow. I therefore obtained a quantity of water the same temperature as the rain, and poured it on to a pile of snow. I found that it did not appear to do anything except to make the snow wet. Why, then, was it that this small quantity of rain melted such an immense\" quantity of snow ? This was the enigma.- I could not understand it, and I wondered at the time if there was anybody in the world who did understand it, and if I would ever be able to do so. It was not until after I had read Professor Tyndall's works and attended his lectures that I fully understood the subject that had so greatly puzzled me. The melting of the

4i8 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. snow was only brought about in a very small degree by the rainfall; the south wind carried with it an immense quantity of water in an invisible form which, on striking the snow, was condensed into the visible form, and there- fore the steaming appear- ance. It is a fact that one pound of water pass- ing from the invisible to the visible form gives off very nearly one thousand heat units, or sufficient to melt about six and a half pounds of ice or five pounds of cast iron. The next morning, while I was dressing, I became aware Jthat the river was up. Dressing as quickly as possible, I went down to the \" Covered Bridge.\" This bridge was one of the ordinary type, and con- sisted of two immensely strong, wooden girders, a lattice-work of heavy tim- bers about fifteen feet deep. Each end rested on a stone pier, and the whole was covered with a roof to preserve the wood. There were rapids above the bridge and a cascade below it. I crossed over, and while I was looking at the immense mass of ice coming down the rapids a very large block struck the pier over which I was standing, and a considerable part of it was demolished. The thought occurred to me that if the bridge were destroyed it would be very difficult for me to return home, so I made a quick dash for the other side, and while crossing I heard the timbers of the bridge creak. On reaching the other end of the bridge I turned and looked back, and at that very instant the opposite end fell into the raging torrent, and inside of a few seconds the whole went over the cataract. Curiously enough, hardly a particle of it could be seen ; only occasionally a bit of broken timber sticking out of the mass of rushing ice and water. It was a narrow squeak. Had I been two or three seconds later, it would have fallen to others at a later date to discover the process \"'SOMETHING IN WHITE AND BLUE HOOPS, BLUE SLEEVES, AND of building up and standardizing the filaments of incandescent electrical lamps by electrically heating them in a highly-attenuated atmo- sphere of hydro-carbon vapours—the inven- tion that made incandescent lighting pos- sible. At a still later date someone would have stumbled upon the invention of an automatic gun, and made a smokeless

THE MOST IMPRESSIVE SIGHT I EVER SAW. 419 IX. My Hundred-to- One Winner. Derby By CHEVALIER GINISTRELLI. Illustrated ty W. H. Byles. Can you realize the glorious wave of pride a father feels when son or daughter of his fulfils the ambition he has ever fondly hoped his child, or children, would fulfil ? If you are a father or mother you will surely under- stand this feeling at once, and in understand- ing it you will, too, realize exactly how proud, how overjoyed, I felt when in 1908 Signori- netta, a daughter of my beloved and beautiful mare, Signorina, won for me my first Derby, and, better still, showed that she was a worthy daughter of, as I think, the best mare of all time. For Signorinetta's mother, Signorina, as a two - year - old I refused twenty thousand pounds. And, though afterwards Signorina achieved but scant success on the Turf, I always felt that one day one of her children would revive the glory of her name in Turf history. But time passed, and year after year, until Signorina was mated with Chaleureux, she failed to quite justify the high hopes I had built up around her stud career. However, any feelings of annoyance I may have experienced at my experi- ment being almost uni- versally condemned, were forgiven and forgotten when, on a blazing hot day some three years later, I witnessed the most im- pressive sight of my life as the despised outsider and forlorn hope, Signorinetta, daughter of Signorina and Chaleureux, galloped home an easy winner for the Derby. Yes, beyond all manner of doubt, the triumph of the daughter of my famous mare— who, I am glad to say, is still alive and well —was one of the most sensational incidents that have ever taken place in the history of racing. That Derby Day was indeed a red-letter day in my life. Every incident that hap- pened I can recall as clearly as though the race had been run yesterday. I had engaged Bullock to ride my mare, and after I had attended to her saddling, and saw her walk

420 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. mile gallops I had given her at Newmarket, while, on the other hand, I had been led to understand that there was a big \" if \" about the stamina of many other horses in the field. But, even so, the public thought but little of my mare's chance, and for the asking such forlorn odds as a hundred to one against, and more, could have been had, and would have been willingly laid to lose any sum within reason. As the -horses left the paddock I remember remarking that they were a decidedly good- looking lot. \" Mountain \"Apple,\" I thought to myself, \" look; particularly well. Llangwym, with Maher up, is a nice-looking horse, too; but rumour says that staying is not his forte. The beautifully-bred Vamose, the hope of Kingsclere, on paper should be good enough to win anything, for is he not the son of the great Ormonde and Vampire ? \" The late King Edward's Perrier also looked trained to the hour, and altogether, in one way and another, I soon began to realize that my mare had a big task before her. So my thoughts ran as the field cantered to the post, a buzz of admiration humming through the crowd as the popular favourites filed past the stand. Scarcely a dozen members of the hundreds of thousands of people present paid any attention to the despised Signorinetta, who, however, I remarked, strode out gallantly on the hard going with that machine-like, effortless, daisy - cutting stride which, in itself, in a racehorse almost invariably betokens stamina. At last they're off! Vamose, I can see, has lost at least a couple of dozen lengths, and must, even now, be practically out of the race. I feel a pang of sympathy for his trainer that those months of anxious care should have so been turned to naught. They sweep up the hill and round Tattenham Corner. Mountain Apple shoots to the front. \" Moun- tain Apple for a thousand ! \" a roar goes up. But of a sudden the \" Apple \" drops back. The fate of his backers is sealed at once, as is that of the supporters of the Two Thousand Guineas winner, Norman III., whose colours are looked for in vain in the van. Suddenly, full of running on the outside, and gaining at every stride, something in \" white and blue hoops, blue sleeves, white cap \" is seen to shoot out. \" Whose colours are they ? \" say inexperienced racegoers, as they anxiously turn to their race-cards. At the distance Primer, the Kingsclere second favourite, makes his run, and it is seen that Maher is putting in a lot of good work on Llangwym. But it is too late. The—in the words of the crowd—\" something in white and blue hoops, blue sleeves, and white cap \" has won it. And that \" something \" is Signorinetta. Were I to live until the ripe age of Methuselah I shall never forget the impression made upon me as my mare galloped home an easy winner of the greatest race in the world. Was she

J5yAustin, Pfiilips Illustrated hy, Gilbert Holid^ 1HIS is your train, ma'am. Goes straight down again —doesn't run into Charing Cross. But just one minute, ma'am. There's a big crowd to come out ! \" The inspector made a gesture; the woman he addressed moved back. The train from the outer suburbs swung into dingy Cannon Street, and slowed up. The station was a hive of humanity ; a hive that swarmed and fled. Few had eyes for her who waited upon the emptying of the train. But one young stockbroker turned to an underwriter at Lloyd's. \" Gad ! that's a smart woman—really smart ! Look, Jimmy ! I say ! \" But the friend had looked in vain. He was swept on with the speaker ; the barrier was blocked and cleared again ; the inspector was ladyship—if you at a carriage door. \" Now, madam—your please ! \" \" Thank you ! \" The woman sat at the window, looking out upon the platform. She was a fair woman—fair of complexion as well as fair to see. She wore a coat of Shantung over a blue taffeta dress, with short sleeves ; and long gloves covered her arms. She had the long nose and short upper lip of the English aristocrat; her mouth, though firm, had humanity, her eyes, though cold, were kind. She was a woman who could love, and love deeply; but she was a woman very proud, very sensitive. She was the daughter of a marquess ; she had been the wife of a drunken baronet; she was a widow, and she was very rich. Her age was thirty ; she was the friend and confidante of Royal ladies; and she was sought in marriage by many men. Then she had met a man whom she could love ; a man who called to her, commanded her, compelled ; a man born to be a master among men. They had talked ; they had understood each other ; she had found him strong and simple and sincere. And, being tempted, she had moved heaven and earth to set herself out of temptation, to exile him from England, to get for him that Colonial governorship which she knew to be his dream. For, though she could love him— and though men called him the Kitchener of to-morrow—he was a Board-school boy who had won a scholarship at Bedford, a man of the people ; the son of a charwoman in a certain garrison town. Pride of race conquered ; and she had held herself unflinchingly in hand. She had striven for him secretly ; she had got for him the governorship of Omofaga; an illustrious person had sent her news that morning ; his note—a blazing indiscretion and a peerless compliment—lay, now, in the hand-bag on her arm. Yet she played with fire and toyed with weakness; she was going down to

422 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. Woolwich Garrison within a fortnight—and the decision had seized her then. She had two nephews at the Academy; she had smiled upon its commandant; had hinted willingness to visit them ; had accepted invitation ; and had fixed a date to chime with the inspection upon Woolwich Common that forenoon in July. She had come up from Tonbridge that morning ; she was going to indulge weakness, to see, take leave of Sir John Dixon, congrat- ulate him, hide her part in his preferment, listen (this much she must allow herself) to his proposal, refuse it, be flattered by it—depart— and be weak no more. So she played with fire. She sat, now, looking out idly upon that City platform ; its types amusing, strange. Suddenly she who looked at them idly looked at them no longer, started, flushed, had her head half-averted ; then turned it resolutely back. As she turned it, her eyes met the eyes of the man who came up beside the train. He, too, started; then, at the sight of her, lifted his Homburg hat. The woman's face showed nothing; she was grande dame, mistress of her emotions, sure of herself , most sure. But the flame of the fire she played with leaped up, licking at her heart. \" Good morning, Lady Mildred. This is luck ! May I come in ? \" She nodded, smiling—no trace of agitation showing in her face. The man entered, shook hands with her, and sat down. \" Ten o'clock, Lady Mildred. What good luck brings you—of all people—into a suburban train at such an hour ? \" \" My car, which would not bring me farther than Sevenoaks, and a train from Sevenoaks here. I started early—from Tonbridge. I am going to Woolwich.\" \" Woolwich ! \" \" Yes, Woolwich \"—her speech grew imper- ceptibly more careless—\" I've two young nephews at the ' Shop.' The commandant prevailed upon me. He has a garden-party.\" \" Yes, after the inspection. The Duke will be there ! \" \" And you ? \" \" Oh, yes, of course. I wanted to escape from it—I saw no way out of it—and now— I'd find no way if I could !\" \" I'm flattered \" ; she took, accepted his assertion not as compliment, but pleasant truth. \" We shall meet, then ? \" \" And talk, I hope ! \" \" I hope so. Ah! Sir John, we're off. It's a short run down, I know.\" \" Thirty minutes. That gives me just an hour to get into uniform.\" He paused, looked at her, hesitated, then went on. \" You are coming to the inspection, Lady Mildred ? \" \" I think so. The commandant of the Academy says it's interesting. He tells me you gallop your guns.\" \" Yes ; it's \"—he spoke quickly, boyishly —\" hang it, it's rather good to ride with them, Lady Mildred ! \" \" And they tell me it's good to see. Oh,

THE GIFT. 423 \"AS SHE TURNED, HEK EYES MET THE EVES OF THE MAN WHO CAME UP BESIDE THE TRAIN.\" lessly, as it seemed to her for no good reason. \" My journey has tired me—the breakdown of the car was annoying—and if I talk less now I can talk more this afternoon ! \" \" Don't mention it, Lady Mildred.\" \" I won't again,\" she smiled. \" But I felt an apology was due. By the way \"—her voice, altered, became negligent, almost over-care- less in its careless tone—\" you told me you were in for Omofaga, I think ? \" \" Yes ; I'm in for Omofaga.\" He had hesitated before answering ; his tone, too, had changed ; it masked anxiety, so it seemed to its hearer ; but his face told nothing at all. Lady Mildred spoke again. \" You've heard nothing—yet ? \" \" No; I've heard nothing. I expect nothing. It is virgin soil—from a military standpoint; they are just starting a militia— VoLxlvi-64. and there is much good work to be done. And I want it \"—it was as if he had tried not to speak meaningly, yet could not escape giving emphasis to his words—\" I want it for other— for private reasons. It would give me much that I have not got. It might give me more.\" \" I see ! \" She looked at him ; she felt that disturbing sense of his power again ; she became con- scious that she was weaker than she deemed herself. And she did not tell him that Omofaga was his—through her. She dared not. She was afraid of him ; of the words which must follow upon the knowledge. She spoke only when the train came level with the goods sidings that told her Woolwich was near. \" You will get it,\" she said, and fumbled with her glove-button. \" You will get

424 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. it. I believe in you. To-morrow you will hear.\" \" To-morrow ! \" He looked at her ; his jaw firm; his lips parted ; his eyes very eager and keen. \" To-morrow ? You have heard something, Lady Mildred. Someone has spoken to you ! \" \" No one has spoken to me—no one at all.\" She took quick refuge in the truth which kept truth back. \" I believe in you—that is all, Sir John—and here is the commandant.\" They were in the station ; the train had jerked to a standstill. The commandant grasped the door-handle, turned it, and greeted his guest. \" Ah ! Lady Mildred ; this is good of you. Let me take your case—thank you—now 1\" But Lady Mildred Festing stepped back. \" After Sir John,\" she said, smiling. \" Service of the King, Colonel Lightfoot. Sir John goes first ! \" \" \" By your permission—and wish, Lady Mildred. My thanks to you — we meet, then, this afternoon.\" Sir John Dixon lifted his hat and went hurrying down the platform to his waiting trap. The commandant helped his guest from the train. Mistress, maid, luggage, and command- ant were embarked upon the waiting car. The chauffeur released his engines ; the car had run clear of the squalor, had left the barracks on its right, and was going up the road which faces the common to that Academy which men call the \" Shop.\" The commandant was talking hard. \" Nice young fellows ; yes, very. Good cricketers, both of them. They'll make good officers when we've licked them into shape a little—hey, Lady Mildred, what ? \" \" I'm glad you like them. Yes ; I think they'll do well.\" But Lady Mildred spoke mechanically, a prey to disquiet and fear ; she was thinking of Sir John Dixon, trying her hardest not to think of him, and marvelling that she could not succeed. And as the car went in at the gates of the Academy her heart cried out these words : \" I am afraid of myself. I am afraid of him. I must not tell him of Omofaga — that he may not tempt me to be a fool! \" The car drew up at the commandant's quarters, and she got out in a waking dream. Her hostess greeted her; she was taken through class-room and study, shown this and that relic, and heard anecdote upon anecdote. The commandant—they were sitting now in his study—suddenly rose. \" We must be going across now; the inspection will be nearly over ; that is, Lady Mildred, if you would care to see them gallop past the base.\" \" I should love to ! \" Lady Mildred smiled at him, and rose to her feet immediately. For she was, now, most confident in her strength. They left the building on foot, going towards an enclosure roped off on the common itself. The

THE GIFT. 425 past the roped-in enclosure, level with it, to the right. In the distance the troops, too, had wheeled. Guns and cavalry trotted; infantry moved smartly, assuming place for the march past. A band took up position on the opposite side of the enclosure, half-way between the Staff and the troops, six hundred yards off. There was a pause—a pause of several minutes. Then, in the distance, a trumpet-call rang out. The commandant, leaning forward, touched his guest upon the arm. \" Here they come, Lady Mildred ! Here they come ! \" Lady Mildred had the glasses to her eyes; she was standing very upright. As yet she could see little save a mass made up of horses, blue shell-jackets, yellow braidings, busbies, ochre-corded and red-flapped. But though she saw little, she was herself much seen. At her, eager-eyed, with lips that worked and quivered, the small woman in the mantle and bonnet was looking from below where the rope restrained. And the noise grew greater. Hoofs thundered on the plain. \" A good sight, Lady Mildred,\" said the commandant. \" Always worth coming to see ! \" His guest nodded. Her hands tight- ened nervously on the glasses, bringing them closer to her eyes. The rout and roar grew greater ; the hoofs pounded harder ; the noises fought with each other—yet allied to drown the band. Horses neighed excitedly ; the guns rumbled forward ; the sun glinted on the dark and polished steel of them—a great cloud of dust rising heaven- wards like a pillar, then rolling in their wake. They came on, on ; the faces of the drivers eager, their whips cracking, their faces blackening with perspiration and quickly- caking dust. On the right of them rode Sir John Dixon with his aides-de-camp. Lady Mildred lowered her glasses; her eyes were on him, and the eyes of the little woman by the rope of the enclosure still devoured her face. A hundred yards, seventy-five, fifty, thirty—they pounded forward, magnificent in the pride of man- hood, stirring the blood to see. Lady Mildred's heart was beating wildly ; it waked, this charge, the primitive woman in her ; it was life, it laid bare, it revealed. Twenty yards—fifteen yards—level with the enclosure, they swept forward ; and then —slap—snap-snap, clang and jingle ; broken harness on a saddle; a smashed stirrup- leather ; a wrench, a tumble, a thud. A shriek from a woman in the enclosure—a sharp-flung oath—cries shrill and hoarse and loud. From the commandant behind Lady Mildred a gasp that was almost a shout. \" There's a man down—they're over him— he's done for. No, by Jove, they're clear ! But the lancers—by God, the lancers! They'll ride over him. Here they come ! \" The commandant was right. The lancers were pounding at full gallop, cloaked in the cloud of dust that swept in the wake of the

426 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \"there's a man down—they're over him—he's done for. no, by JOVE, they're CLEAR 1

THE GIFT. 427 BUT THE LANCERS ! THEY'LL RIDE OVER HIM. HERE THEY COME !\"

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. into silencK ; the marching Highlanders were stayed. And in the enclosure men and women forgot, in their enthusiasm, to cheer. Then came climax—anti-climax—and most natural human deed. It was done before onlookers could realize it; before hand of sentry or of any man could hinder her who did it out of the fullness of her heart. She—the doer—was the little woman in bonnet and mantle, with the eager eyes and the working, quivering lips. She had slipped under the ropes ; she ran forward with quick little tripping steps ; she was twenty yards in front of them before sentry or onlooker, wrought up by the just-seen spectacle, intent upon the men in mid- common, saw her make for the group. The commandant gasped his horror; a sentry shouted \" Hi! \" But it was too late. The little woman was safe—to work her will. She reached the group—as the stunned driver, getting use of legs and faculties, staggered free of his general's arms. Those arms were free but a breath's space. The little woman took the general by the waist. He hesitated—instinctively ; her words, her eyes implored him ; her great thankfulness overcame him ; he bent down and kissed her cheeks. Then he loosed himself, whispered something, the little woman answered and, having answered, turned. She came towards the ropes again. But she ran no longer, though her steps, of habit, tripped. And her head was high and the mantle and bonnet were not ludicrous—in the sight of the human —and her eyes had the pride of an old and proud woman which is prouder than the pride of men. And the foreign Prince bit his lip and said something to the Royal Duke beside him, and the Prince spoke in his own language, as though he had suddenly forgot his English —which was fluent and very good. And the Duke answered in the Prince's language— which he had not used that day. And the sun shone in the Duke's eyes, into which, it seemed, perspiration had dripped from his brow; while on the wagon in the enclosure the commandant gave Lady Mildred the truth. \" By Jove, it's his mother!\" he said. And, as he spoke loudly, amid dead silence, his speech rang through the enclosure from end to end. And all the enclosure took up his words. \" His mother—well, I don't wonder—it was topping—simply magnificent—the pluckiest thing I ever saw. Ripping—oh—oh, simply ripping — magnificent, eh ?— magnificent — what ? S-sh-sh !—I say—sh-sh-h-h-h ! Here she comes I \" She did come, quiet, proud, and triumphant, seeing in her deed no solecism, content as the mother of a man. She stooped under the rope that men lifted, she passed through a lane that men made for her, glanced up at the wagon, held Lady Mildred's eyes a space, then disappeared from the enclosure, going towards the town. The enclosure began to empty—talking of but one thing. In the wagon the commandant stayed his party,

THE GIFT. 429 forcing them away. It was more than a thought. It was an instinct; and the instinct, quickening, became an overwhelming wish. She wanted to give something—she who had seen something given that day— object-lesson and example had been strong. She had seen something done for somebody, She joined her hostess in the grounds of the Academy, in the cricket-field, under the trees. She looked very beautiful, very stately, in her soft summer dress. The Duke greeted her ; Prince Heinrich monopolized her. She and Prince Heinrich walked together in the green and leafy grounds. They talked of risk taken, a life offered for a life. And it came to her that life, without giving, can be full but most incomplete. A strange exalta- tion took her and compelled her, lifting her, leading her to obey the ordering of her heart. many things. But they spoke most of Sir John Dixon's deed. \" I am glad to have seen it,\" said Prince Heinrich, presently. \" It was big—very big ! He is a fine man, this general of yours. The

43« THE STRAND MAGAZINE. mother incident was—unfortunate—but I liked him—because he showed no shame.\" \" There was no shame, Prince Heinrich.\" \" No—not to us—but to small minds, yes. He will go far, your general. That is, if he has the chance.\" Lady Mildred Festing smiled. \" Men make their own chances, sir,\" she said. \" Yes—and no, Lady Mildred. Other things count. In this case there are obstacles. An alliance with a woman of birth would bridge them. But his mother prevents that.\" \" I think not, sir.\" The Prince started ; there was in the voice of his companion a timbre that made him stare. Lady Mildred looked him full in the face. The Prince, very courteously, averted his eyes. But he thought much and he said little, and he rejoiced, because it seemed to him that a brave man was going to have help in his career. And they walked on, now in silence, till they came back to where the Duke and their hostess stood. With them was Sir John Dixon, in his frock-coat and service cap with its oak-leaves showing golden above the peak. He was upstanding, dignified, virile, and distinguished, and Lady Mildred Festing's heart beat fast. \" You are late, Sir John,\" the com- mandant's wife was saying. \" Yes, I was—I \" He stopped. The Duke finished what the general would leave unsaid. \" He was at the hospital, looking after his driver. How is he, Sir John ? I hope he is doing well ? \" \" Excellently, sir—excellently. A slight concussion—a twisted knee. He will be about again in a few days ! \" The Duke nodded ; for the minute he said no more. The commandant's wife, Prince Heinrich, and Lady Mildred were silent. Then the Duke gave a little chuckle. Lady Mildred glanced at him, and guessed the cause. \" It may be an indiscretion, general. But the news is hardly secret now. I heard last night from headquarters that you have Omofaga. I congratulate you with all my heart. And \"—the Duke turned to Prince Heinrich—\" and I think you will agree with me that Omofaga's gain is England's— temporary—loss.\" \" I think so—but Sir John will come back, enriched with experience, to do even better work.\" The Prince put out his hand. Sir John Dixon, his lips twitching a little, took it—as he had already taken the hand of the Duke. Lady Mildred said no word. But her heart was proud within her; for she knew that the deed was hers. They stood there, talking of Omofaga, of the work that Omofaga held. Then suddenly Prince Heinrich glanced at Lady Mildred and addressed the commandant's wife. \" I should like to see those relics of the Prince Imperial,\" he said. \" Time is short,

The Sayings of Mar]one. Edited by P. LI. NAISH. Anlhoi of \" Rollings of a Afossless Stone,'' \" Chestnuts ffot and Co/J,\" tit. Illustrated by Miss L. Hocknell. This character study of a child may bring to the minds of our readers some anecdotes or sayings of their own children, as suggested by the writer at the end of his article. If so, we shall be glad to receive them, and to pay for any that we may decide to use. '\"THOSE of us who have kept babies cannot fail to have been struck with their early air of mystery and the portentousness of their wisdom. It is impossible not to believe that at first the baby remem- bers a good deal of a former existence, and resents its pre- sent ridiculous body. I can bring for- ward as proof of this the first remembered sounds that Mar- jorie made when a day or two old, when she lay singing \" Lai, lal, lal ! \" to herself; such a plaintive note, and yet with the dawn of contentment at her changed lot in her voice, as though to say, \" Well, well, what a come down ! I've got to begin all over again ; Vol. xlvl-55. but there, it is nice and comfortable, and my toes, too, are very interesting.\" I now propose, at the request of several friends and relations, to record in their native baldness the sayings of this particular baby. They are put down exactly as they were said, and not polished up or improved in the slightest. The earlier ones may give the totally wrong impression that she was a naughty and spoilt child. This, however, in fairness to her parents, she was not, and the following instances of infantile anger were practically the only ones out of the first half-dozen years of her life. I do not for a moment mean that she was a \" gooil child.\" like those terrible creatures in the improving story-books we used to read of. but, being blessed with sufficiently selfish parents, who refused to be bothered with a spoilt child, she soon realized that \" No \" meant \" No.\" and that it was only productive of very sore little feet to kick against the pricks. One of the earliest of her remarks, worthy of notice here, was when, at the age of three, she went, a w hite-dressed babe, in a white Cee- sprung perambulator, propelled by a white-

432 THE STRAXD MAGAZINE. clad nurse, to order the village cab. The wife of the cab proprietor was airing the six weeks' old baby in her garden, wrapped in a rather grimy shawl, and thus addressed the frowning and distant Marjorie : \" And how would you like to have this dear little baby to go for a ride with you in your nice pram ? \" To which Marjorie, with a malevolent scowl, replied, \" I'd kill it ! \" There came one terrible day when, at the age of three—how can I tell it ?—she so far forgot herself as to bite her nurse. This was too much. There being no nursery law in existence at the time for the punishment of infant cannibalism, I was called in to repre- sent the stern majesty of parental authority. I found a rather defiant small person, with Hushed face, peering out of its mane of curls, and after a few pompous remarks, addressed in a heart-broken voice, decreed that the usual after-tea descent to the drawing-room for pictures and dancing should not take place for three days. I then departed with much dignity, feeling how successfully I had cut off my own nose, and sincerely, but secretly, hoping she did not mind as much as I did. It was afterwards reported to me that, upon my exit, she had said. \" Very well daddy will see me take down my hat and coat, and go up to the—the—up there.\" The nurse suggested, \" Do you mean the Grey- hound, baby ? \" (our village inn). \" Yes, the Greyhound, and there I shall live.\" Happily for us all she never carried out this tremendous threat, and, when the terrible three days were over, pranced downstairs, and demanded \" Chin, Chin, Chinaman,\" to be played for dancing purposes, as though no cloud had come between us. Happily the word \" sulk \" was never in her vocabulary. Gladly I turn from these dark episodes to lighter subjects. Like all only children, she had a large choice of words, though not always quite sure of their meaning, and so on one occasion, when a doting aunt was taking leave after a short visit, she waved her good-bye, saying, \" Next time you come. Aunt Sinny, you must stay a long time ; you must stay for a year.\" \" Oh, you dar- ling !\" from the delighted Aunt Sydney. \" Yes, or a day ! \" cried Marjorie, in all good faith. One of the accomplishments of this aunt which used to be a great delight was that she would peep over a high screen when the baby was having her bath, making a curious

THE SAY1.XGS OF MARJORIE. 433 grunting sound, which the delighted Marjorie called \" snorking.\" A new nurse having come on the scene, and another visit from the aunt being about to take place, Marjorie said, '* Nanny, do you know my Aunt Sinny ? \" \" No, baby. I don't.\" \" Such a nice young lady,\" she graciously explained. \" She snorks over a screen beautiful.\" It was when about that age that one evening her mother was dining out, and went to wish her good night. The baby looked' long and hard at her, and said, \" Flowers in your dress and flowers in your hair; you are smart.\" Then she touched her chest, and said. \" Why, mummy, it's skin!\" And when her mother had gone she asked the it, I might be allowed to be the one to tell her of the arrangements and see her pleasure. Her answer was perhaps rather chilling. \" All right, daddy ; but I'd much rather have it in the kitchen, if I may.\" About this time she was paying one of 1 er nurse, \" Nanny, when I grow up shall I go out to dinner and have a dress made of skin in front ? \" A brilliant idea came to me that Christmas to give her pleasure. We would have the orthodox Christmas dinner in the middle of the day, and then she could for the first time dine with us instead of in her nursery. I begged mv wife that, as I had thought of SUCH A NICE EXPLAINED. you no lady, she graciously 'she snokks ovkr a screen beautiful' \"

4.U THE STRA.XP MAGAZINE. annual visits to her grandmother, who always had family prayers, at which she used to assist, with her eyes just appearing above the table. On one occasion the servants were rather slow in making their appearance, so when they had come, and were decorously seated in silence, she lifted up her voice and reproved them: \" You are all very late, womans.\" until after two summers spent at Dieppe, where the crowds of people we knew, and the shoals of children coming and going all day, soon got her out of it. liefore that I have been holding her hand when on the way to see people who had called and asked to see her, and it used to shake with terror. \"I ASKED HER WHEN THE DANCE WAS FINISHED HOW SHE COT ON. 'OK, 1'KETTY WEIL, BUT THE BOY COULDN'T GO FAST. I THINK HIS TROUSERS WERE BUTTONED SO HIIiH TIIEY STOPPED HIS BREATHING.'\" It was at the same function, on another occasion, that a member of the family coughed, and the small voice immediatelv was heard saying, \" You've got a cough, ma'am.\" No notice was taken, but a minute after again a muffled cough was heard, and instantly the voice remarked, \" Your cough again, ma'am ! \" At this age her shyness amounted almost to a disease, and was not completely cured As she said herself later in life, when talking it over, \" How would you like it now, when you enter a room, for someone to say, ' Oh, there's the baby,' and then every eye in that room to glare upon you in solemn silence ? \" At Dieppe she used to take a great delight in the \" Hals des Enfants,'' held on Wednesday afternoons. They used to dance a very pretty dance called \" The Babies' Polka,\" and when Marjorie had not got a partner

THE SAY1XGS OF MARJORIE. 435 b \"WHEN TUB FIRST HYMN COMMENCED SHE STEPPED SOLEMNLY INTO THE AISLE AND COMMENCED A ' l'AS SEUL.'\" she would solemnly dance round, doing all the figures by herself. On one occasion she danced with a small French hoy who was dressed in what I believe is called a \" Kate Greenaway\" costume. At any rate, he wore a shirt with an enormous collar, and trousers which came up under his armpits and were fortified with a double row of buttons. He was not much of a mover, and I could see Marjorie was not enjoying herself, so 1 asked her, when it was finished, how she got on. She said, \" Oh, pretty well, but the boy couldn't go fast. I think his trousers were buttoned so high they stopped his breathing.\" She noticed that 1 often slunk away when people called, so one day announced to some ladies foi whose inspection she had been dragged downstairs, \" Tell the yadies to go away. Daddy doesn't like yadies. If daddy was a dog he'd bark at the yadies ! \" There were certain people she seemed to fear more than others—one neighbour in particular, a General Pugh, whom she called \" Jum Pooh,\" at whom she used to yell when meeting him in her perambulator or on foot, and always refused to say \" Good morning \" to. For this she got many scoldings, and the nurse used to mournfully announce on her return that Baby had been very naughty again, and had howled at meeting the dis- tinguished military neighbour, and absolutely refused to say \" Good morning \" to him. About this time Lord Roberts returned from South Africa, and her mother and I went to London to see his triumphant entry, leaving Marjorie in charge of the before- mentioned aunt. She asked, \" Where have daddy and mummy gone ? \" \" Oh,\" said the aunt, \" they've gone up to London to see a very brave little man called ' Bobs,' who, by the way, is your cousin, who went all the way out to Africa to beat a very bad man calied Cronje, and now he's come back.\" \" What did he want to beat him for ?\" \" Because he was such a very, very bad man.\" \" Wouldn't he say ' Good morning ' to Jum Pooh ? \" Her first appearance in church at the age of three and a half was perhaps not quite a success in one way, though distinctly so in another. It was a children's afternoon service which she attended with her nurse. When the first hymn commenced, which happened to be \" Onward, Christian Soldiers,\" with its cheery tune, the baby, whose previous experiences of music had only been in connec- tion with dancing, stepped solemnly into the aisle and commenced a pas seul, until she was snatched back into the pew by her horrified attendant. At the close of the service when the collec- tion was being taken, upon the bag being presented to her she smilingly took out a

43t> THE STRAXD MAGAZINE. her, which proceeded to unroll itself, and play out yards and vards, as though she were a lively freshly-hooked salmon. On another occasion she was playing croquet in a garden, and a small errand-boy stopped to see what was going on. Marjorie was much annoyed at his presuming to look at her, and kept glaring at the bush which partially concealed him. At last a peculiar sound issued from the branches, and Marjorie in a loud, clear voice remarked, \" That unfor- tunate lad hiding behind the bush is betrayed by hiccups.'\" Immediately there was a clatter of hobnail boots, and the daring one fled. Birthdays were always great events in her life. I don't mean her own only, but her mother's and mine. When she was five she came to me one day, and said. \" Daddy, will you make up my pennies to a shilling, as I want to give mummy a birthday present ? \" \" Certainly, dear ; how many do you want ? \" I said, feeling in my pocket. \" I want eleven, please,'' was her unexpected answer. She had various money-boxes, one in the shape of a letter-box, another a pig, and so on. On the following maternal birthday she appeared to have amassed enough wealth to buy a hatpin—it was always a shilling hat- pin she gave at that period—out of her savings. After it had been presented, and her mother had dulv thanked her with much redundancy of expression, suited to the giver, she said, \" You know, mummy, you cost me very expensive—pig. letter-box, all empty ; not no money nowhere.\" I cannot quite remember her origin, but somehow a mythical personage named Poly- phemus Stiggins developed in our midst. She was a most useful addition to the family circle, and used to do terrible deeds, curiously resembling those committed by Marjorie. It was, for instance, often a coincidence that, if she had refused to eat up her pudding, or had been disobedient, Polyphemus Stiggins had clone the same, and I generally was the first person to hear of it , and immediately hurried off to tell Marjorie of the news in this way: \" What do you think that Polyphemus Stiggins has done now ? She absolutely refused to eat up her pudding, although, of course, it is so good for her,\" etc. The news was always received with pained surprise by Marjorie, and she was always interested in Po'yphemus's latest atrocity. One day an aunt asked her, \" But, Baby, who is this Polyphemus I hear so much about ? I never see her.\" To which Marjorie, hang- ing her head, replied, \" I'm afraid it's me.\" Whilst on a visit to her srrandmother she one day was found by her sitting at the table in the nursery after her dinner, instead of as usual rolling about on the floor, which, with children, puppies, and kittens, appears to be the popular conclusion of a meal. (Coffee comes later to the human species.) The reply was that Marjorie had refused to THAI UNFORTUNATE LAI) HIDING BEHIND THE HCMI IS BETRAYED BY HICCUPS.

THE SAYINGS OF MARJORIE. 437 say her grace. Naturally she was asked why, and her answer was. \" Because it wasn't worth it.\" From her very earliest youth we had always impressed on her the enormity of any kind of boasting or showing off. She often would call to order anyone who appeared in any way guilty of this offence. Knowing this, her Aunt Sydney on one occa- sion in the nursery commenced to relate what a charming child she had been in her early youth, and how obedient, sweet, and good everyone pronounced her to be. Mar- jorie stood this for some time in silence, but getting redder and redder, until at last, almost crying, she burst out, \" Proud praising thing. Aunt Sinny; proud praising thing!\" It was about this time, when staying at Weston, she became friends with a very nice little girl of about her age, who had been brought up by her grandmother, who was rather strict in her views, and had—as is often the custom with the aged—insisted on the child doing only what she, at the age of eighty, thought right and amusing. The contrast between the two children used to amuse me ; they seemed like two little figures out of the Cavalier and Roundhead times. One afternoon a notice was posted on the dining-room door : \" There will be a great entertainment at six-thirty in the dining- room, followed by a supper, followed by a ball, followed by a prayer meeting.\" Obviously, I should say, this curious double sandwich was the result of alternate choices by each child. About this time she. with the assistance of her maid—as that official was called when she became eight—s arted a magazine, called \" The Magazine,\" which, unlike most of its brethren, was killed by its immediate success. Everyone heard of it, and sixpenny sub- scriptions poured in ; even half a crown was given, and one of our most popular novelists offered an article, if worthy. Poor Marjorie got worried and rather frightened, and wrote to her grandmother : \" You know, granny, I want you to be the editor, as I feel too young to manage it up against all these grand people.\" This, however, was declined, and she and the maid ran it alone. The maid's articles were rather on the dismal side. There was always a corpse, sometimes several, and they generally soli- loquized after they were dead on the unkind- ness of their relatives. Each number com- menced with a letter from the editor. One ran, \" The Magazine is getting on very well. I am very pleased with the Magazine. There is lots of money in the money-box ; the editor is thinking of buying a camera. If anything exciting has happened in the place where you live, please let me know. If you don't like the Magazine, don't be afraid to say so. And now I must stop.—Yours truly, The Editor.\" Her dictation and other lesson-books were my delight. Take, for instance, a \"fuggy

43« THE STRAND MAGAZINE. middle.\" Well, I must admit I am rather bald. And invariably signed, \" Your dear, darling Marjorie.\" She was required to write a poem descrip- tive of an Empire Day celebration, which dragged on much longer than was expected, which she did in the following lines :- Under flags so bright and gay, Britannia sat on Saturday. People came from far away (Two and-six they had to pay). The scene was very gay and bright: It lasted far into the night. On one occasion, at lunch, in the winter, Marjorie and her mother were seated near the fire, whilst I was the opposite side of the table and found it rather cold, and said so. I was told that 1 was in the wrong and that, if anything, the room was rather hot. I naturally replied that it was all very well, but that I was cold, seated, as I was, far from the fire; whereat Marjorie at once re- marked: \"Ah, well, daddy, you see the few must always suffer for the many.\" Alas! alas ! time keeps flying on, and the years are galloping past, and though, looking back, her life seems long to me, it is impos- sible to think there was a time when there wasn't a Marjorie, fifteen years ago. And though now she is one of the best of pals, with a keen interest in most of the things I care for, yet it is a great loss when the babyhood years, when everything was a fairy tale, are just memories laid away in lavender. It seems so odd, and yet so exactly what I would have, to see the changed interests, to wonder why she is slicing her drive just now, or why she has gone off her mashie, refusing to believe it is because she is taking her eye off the ball. Or else which meet next week is the most likely to produce a run in the open in this woodland country, and the reasons for thinking Tuesday would be the best day. Of course, every age, I suppose, is good, still I must allow myself a sigh over the dies acti which the scribbling of these pages has brought back so vividly. Her love for books has always been great, one of her favourite stories when very young being that of Rudyard Kipling's \" Riki Tiki.-' On one occasion when her nurse had the misfortune to smash some crockery, Marjorie waltzed round her with delight, shouting. \" Great is Nanny with the white teeth,'' in the words of that delightful tale. Often I think that of all the manifold changes of modern times none is more remark- able than that in children's books. Apart from the delightful story-books, the so-called improving books are better than the best of the ancient tales—\" Our Island Story,\" for instance, giving a general view of English history in the manner of a story, so that nowadays a chikl really sees how one event led to another, and gets an intelligent grasp of the whole, instead of learning it in water- tight compartments, with little or no sequence.

Illustrated by Will Owen. |R. GRIBBLE sat in his small front parlour in a state of angry amazement. It was half-past six and there was no Mrs. Gribble ; worse still, there was no tea. It was a state of things that had only happened once before. That was three weeks after marriage, and on that occasion Mr. Gribble had put his foot down with a bang that had echoed down the corridors of thirty years. The fire in the little kitchen was out, and the untidy remains of Mrs. Gribble's midday meal still disgraced the table. More and more dazed, the indignant husband could only come to the conclusion that she had gone out and been run over. Other things might possibly account for her behaviour; that was the only one that would excuse it. His meditations were interrupted by the sound of a key in the front door, and a second later a small, anxious figure entered the room and, leaning against the table, strove to get its breath. The process was not helped by the alarming distension of Mr. Gribble's figure. \" I—I got home—quick as I could— Henry,\" said Mrs. Gribble, panting. \" Where is my tea ? \" demanded her husband. \" What do you mean by it ? Vol. xlvi.—5Q. Copyright, 1913, The fire's out and the kitchen is just as you left it.\" \" I—I've been to a lawyer's, Henry,\" said Mrs. Gribble, \" and I had to wait.\" \" Lawyer's ? \" repeated her husband. \" I got a letter this afternoon telling me to call. Poor Uncle George, that went to America, is gone.\" \" That is no excuse for neglecting me,\" said Mr. Gribble. \" Of course people die when they are old. Is that the one that got on and made money ? \" His wife, apparently struggling to repress a little excitement, nodded. \" He—he's left me two hundred pounds a year for life, Henry,\" she said, dabbing at her pale blue eyes with a handkerchief. \" They're going to pay it monthly ; sixteen pounds thirteen shillings and fourpence a month. That's how he left it.\" \" Two hund \" began Mr. Gribble, forgetting himself. \" Two hun Go and get my tea ! If you think you're going to give yourself airs because your uncle's left you money, you won't do it in my house.\" He took a chair by the window, and, while his wife busied herself in the kitchen, sat gazing in blank delight at the little street. Two hundred a year ! It was all he could do to resume his wonted expression as his by W. W. Jncubs.

440 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. wife re-entered the room and began to lay the table. His manner, however, when she let a cup and saucer slip from her trembling fingers to smash on the floor left nothing to be desired. \" It's nice to have money come to us in our old age,\" said Mrs. Gribble, timidly, as they sat at tea. \" It takes a load off my mind.\" \" Old age ! \" said her husband, disagree- ably. \" What d'ye mean by old age ? I'm fifty-two, and feel as young as ever I did.\" \" You look as young as ever you did,\" said the docile Mrs. Gribble. \" I can't see no change in you. At least, not to speak of.\" \" Not so much talk,\" said her husband. \" When I want your opinion of my looks I'll ask you for it. When do you start getting this money ? \" \" Tuesday week ; first of May,\" replied his wife. \" The lawyers are going to send it by registered letter.\" Mr. Gribble grunted. \" I shall be sorry to leave the house for some things,\" said his wife, looking round. \" We've been here a good many years now, Henry.\" \" Leave the house ! \" repeated Mr. Gribble, putting down his tea-cup and staring at her. \" Leave the house ! What are you talking about ? \" \" But we can't stay here, Henry,\" faltered Mrs. Gribble. \" Not with all that money. They are building some beautiful houses in Charlton Grove now—bathroom, tiled hearths, and beautiful stained glass in the front door ; and all for twenty-eight pounds a year.\" \" Wonderful ! \" said the other, with a mocking glint in his eye. \" And iron palings to the front garden, painted chocolate-colour picked out with blue,\" continued his wife, eyeing him wist- fully. Mr. Gribble struck the table a blow with his fist. \" This house is good enough for me,\" he roared ; \" and what's good enough for me is good enough for you. You want to waste money on show; that's what you want. Stained glass and bow-windows ! You want a bow-window to loll about in, do you ? Shouldn't wonder if you don't want a servant- gal to do the work.\" Mrs. Gribble flushed guiltily, and caught her breath. \" We're going to live as we've always lived,\" pursued Mr. Gribble. \" Money ain't going to spoil me. I ain't going to put on no side just because I've come in for a little bit. If you had your way we should end up in the workhouse.\" He filled his pipe and smoked thoughtfully, while Mrs. Gribble cleared away the tea- things and washed up. Pictures, good to look upon, formed in the smoke—pictures of a hale, hearty man walking along the primrose path arm-in-arm with two hundred a year ; of the mahogany and plush of the saloon bar of the Grafton Arms ; of Sunday jaunts, and the Oval on summer afternoons.

THE WEAKER VESSEL. 44i Gribble ; \" and so long as I'm satisfied with your appearance nobody else matters. So long as I am pleased, that's everything. What do you want to go dressing yourself up for ? Nothing looks worse than an over- dressed woman.\" \" What are we going to do with all that money, then ? \" inquired Mrs. Gribble, in trembling tones. \"That'll do,\" said Mr. Gribble, de- c i d e d 1 y. \"That'll do. One o' these days you'll go too far. You start throwing that money in my teeth and see what hap- pens. I've done my best for you all these years, and there's no reason to sup- pose I sha'n't go on doing so. What did you say? What!\" Mrs. Gribble turned to him a face rendered ghastly by terror. \" I—I said—it was my money,\" she stammered. Mr. Gribble rose, and stood for a full minute regarding her. Then, kicking a chair out of his way, he took his hat from its peg in the pass and, with a bang of street-door that sent a current of fresh, sweet air circulating through the house, strode off to the Grafton Arms. It was past eleven when he returned, but even the spectacle of his wife laboriously darn- ing her old dress failed to reduce his good- humour in the slightest degree. In a frivolous mood he even took a feather from the dis- membered hat on the table and stuck it in his hair. He took the stump of a strong cigar from his lips and, exhaling a final cloud of smoke, tossed it into the fireplace. \" Uncle George dead,\" he said, at last, shaking his head. \" Hadn't pleasure ac- quaintance, but good man. Good man.\" He shook his head again and

442 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. His good-humour had evaporated by the morning, and, having made a light breakfast of five cups of tea, he went off, with lagging steps, to work. It was a beautiful spring morning, and the idea of a man with two hundred a year and a headache going off to a warehouse instead of a day's outing seemed to border upon the absurd. What use was money without freedom ? His toil was sweetened that day by the knowledge that he could drop it at any time he liked and walk out, a free man, into the sunlight. By the end of a week his mind was made up. Each day that passed made his hurried uprising and scrambled breakfast more and more irksome; and on Monday morning, with hands in trouser - pockets and legs stretched out, he leaned back in his chair and received his wife's alarming intimations as to the flight of time with a superior and sphinx-like smile. \" It's too fine to go to work to-day,\" he said, lazily. \" Come to that, any day is too fine to waste at work.\" Mrs. Gribble sat gasping at him. \" So on Saturday I gave 'em a week's notice,\" continued her husband, \" and after Potts and Co. had listened while I told 'em what I thought of 'em they said they'd do without the week's notice.\" \" You've never given up your job ? \" said Mrs. Gribble. \" I spoke to old Potts as one gentleman of independent means to another,\" said Mr. Gribble, smiling. \" Thirty-five bob a week after twenty years' service ! And he had the cheek to tell me I wasn't worth that. When I told him what he was worth he talked about sending for the police. What are you looking like that for ? I've worked har.l for you for thirty years, and I've had enough of it. Now it's your turn.\" \" You'd find it hard to get another place at your age,\" said his wife ; \" especially if they wouldn't give you a good character.\" \" Place ! \" said the other, staring. \" Place ! I tell you I've done with work. For a man o' my means to go on working for thirty-five bob a week is ridiculous.\" \" But suppose anything happened to me,\" said his wife, in a troubled voice. \" That's not very likely,\" said Mr. Gribble. \" You're tough enough. And if it did your money would come to me.\" Mrs. Gribble shook her head. \" What ? \" roared her husband, jumping up. \" I've only got it for life, Henry, as I told you,\" said Mrs. Gribble, in alarm. \" I thought you knew it would stop when 1 died.\" \" And what's to become of me if anything happens to you, then ? \" demanded the dis- mayed Mr. Gribble. \" What am I to do ? \" Mrs. Gribble put her handkerchief to her eyes. \" And don't start weakening your constitu- tion by crying,\" shouted the incensed husband. \" What are you mumbling ? \" \" I sa—sa—said, let's hope—you'll go—

THE WEAKER VESSEL. 443 sofa, watched with half-closed eyes as he cleared the breakfast-table. It was the first time he had done such a thing in his life, and a little honest pride in the possession of such a cough would not be denied. Dim possibilities of its vast usefulness suddenly occurred to her. She took the cough mixture for a week, by which time other symptoms, ex- tremely disquieting to an ease-loving man, had manifested themselves. Going upstairs deprived her of breath; carrying a loaded tea-tray pro* duced a long and alarming stitch in the side. The last time she ever filled the coal- scuttle she was dis- covered sit- ting beside it on the floor in a state of collapse. \"You'd better go and see the doc- tor,\" said Mr. Gribble. Mrs. Gribble went. Years before the doctor h a d told her that she ought to take life easier, and she was now able to tell him she was prepared to take his advice. \" And, you see, I must take care of myself now for the sake of my hus- band,\" she said, after she had explained matters. \" I understand,\" said the doctor. \" If anything happened to me \" began the patient. \" Nothing shall happen,\" said the other. \" Stay in bed to-morrow morning, and I'll come round and overhaul you.\" Mrs. Gribble hesitated. \" You might ex- amine me and think I was all right,\" she objected; \" and at the same time you wouldn't know how I feel.\" \" I know just how you feel,\" was the reply. \" Good-bye.\" He came round the following morning and, HE LOOKED FROM THE LITTLR, WHITE-FACED WOMAN ON THE BED TO THE BULKY FIGURE OF MR. GRIBBLE.\"

444 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. The doctor finished at last, and, fastening his bag, stood with his beard in his hand, pondering. He looked from the little, white- faced woman on the bed to the bulky figure of Mr. Gribble. \" You had better lie up for a week,\" he said, decidedly. \" The rest will do you good.\" \" Nothing serious, I s'pose ? \" said Mr. Gribble, as he led the way downstairs to the small parlour. \" She ought to be all right with care,\" was the reply. \" Care ? \" repeated the other, distastefully. \" What's the matter with her ? \" \" She's not very strong,\" said the doc or; \" and hearts don't improve with age, you know. Under favourable conditions she's good for some years yet. The great thing is never to thwart her. Let her have her own way in everything.\" \" Own way in everything ? \" repeated the dumbfounded Mr. Gribble. The doctor nodded. \" Never let her worry about anything,\" he continued; \" and, above all, never find fault with her.\" \" Not,\" said Mr. Gribble, thickly—\" not even for her own good ? \" \" Unless you want to run the risk of losing her.\" Mr. Gribble shivered. \" Let her have an easy time,\" said the doctor, taking up his hat. \" Pamper her a bit if you like; it won't hurt her. Above all, don't let that heart of hers get excited.\" He shook hands with the petrified Mr. Gribble and went off, grinning wickedly. He had few favourites, and Mr. Gribble was not one of them. For two days the devoted husband did the housework and waited on the invalid. Then he wearied, and, at his wife's suggestion, a small girl was engaged as servant. She did most of the nursing as well, and, having a great love for the sensational, took a grave view of her mistress's condition. It was a relief to Mr. Gribble when his wife came downstairs again, and he was cheered to see that she looked much better. His satisfaction was so marked that it brought on her cough again. \" It's this house, I think,\" she said, with a resigned smile. \" It never did agree with me.\" \" Well, you've lived in it a good many years,\" said her husband, controlling himself with difficulty. \" It's rather dark and small,\" said Mrs. Gribble. \" Not but what it is good enough for me. And I dare say it will last my time.\" \" Nonsense ! \" said her husband, gruffly. \" You want to get out a bit more. You've got nothing to do now we are wasting all this money on a servant. Why don't you go out for little walks ? \" Mrs. Gribble went, after several promptings, and the fruit of one of them was handed by the postman to Mr. Gribble a few days afterwards. Half-choking with wrath and

THE WEAKER VESSEL. 445 \" No money,\" said Mr. Gribble, laconically. \" And a mat for the bathroom.\" Mr. Gribble got up and went out. She had to go to him for everything. Two hundred a year and not a penny she could call her own ! She consulted her heart, and that faithful organ responded with a bound that set her nerves quivering. If she could only screw her courage to the sticking-point the question would be settled for once and all. White and trembling she sat at breakfast tremulously at the envelope, peeped inside it and, with her gaze fastened on the window, fumbled for her pocket. She was so pale and shook so much that the words died away on her husband's lips. \" You—you had better let me take care of that,\" he said, at last. \" It is—all right,\" gasped his wife. She put her hand to her throat and, hardly able to believe in her victory, sat struggling for breath. Before her, grim and upright, \"WITH HER GAZE FASTENED ON TUB WINDOW, SHE FUMBLED FOR HER POCKET.\" on the first of November, waiting for the post- man, while the unconscious Mr. Gribble went on with his meal. The double-knocks down the road came nearer and nearer, and Mr. Gribble, wiping his mouth, sat upright with an air of alert and pleaded interest. Rapid steps came to the front door, and a double bar.g followed. \" Always punctual,\" said Mr. Gribble, good-humouredly. His wife made no reply, but, taking a blue- crossed envelope from the maid in her shaking fingers, looked round for a knife. Her gaze encountered Mr. Gribble's outstretched hand. \" After you,\" he said, sharply. Mrs. Gribble found the knife, and, hacking her husband sat, a figure of helpless smoulder- ing wrath. \" You might lose it,\" he said, at last. \" I sha'n't lose it,\" said his wife. To avoid further argument, she arose and went slowly upstairs. Through the doorway- Mr. Gribble saw her helping herself up by the banisters, her left hand still at her throat. Then he heard her moving slowly about in the bedroom overhead. He took out his pipe and filled it mechani- cally, and was just holding a match to the tobacco when he paused and gazed with a puzzled air at the ceiling. \" Blamed if it don't sound like somebody dancing ! \" he growled.

The Fine Art of Dancing. SOME VIEWS AND EXPERIENCES TOLD BY ANNA PAVLOVA. In the following article the world-famous dancer gives many interesting personal impressions on the art of dancing in England as compared with dancing on the Continent. Her views as to how English dancers may achieve skill equal to that of many of the most famous Continental dancers cannot fail to be of great value to those interested in the light fantastic art. As Mine, Anna Pavlova is a foreigner, her article has naturally required a little revision. From Photographs hy Foulsham & Baitfie/d, Schneider, Bert, Bassano, Dover Street Studios, L.N.A., and Hofpt The National School of Russian Dancing has grown with rapid strides during the reign of the present Czar, who spends four hundred thousand pounds each year on the Opera House, the French Theatre, and the School of Dancing. Pupils who are received for the National School are carefully guarded and taught. They are placed in special residential quarters, and must undergo a very serious training. Dancing, indeed, is so much a part of our Russian life that it is no unusual thing for our great artistes to give free lessons in the poor schools. Dancing helps the Russian to express himself or herself, whether in absolute sad- ness, wild joy, or abandon. Our Russian work-girls in their garrets frequently express their moods by gestures which they have learnt in dancing. They feel tired; they express that fatigue in perfectly natural move- ments. I wonder could your English work- girls so express themselves ? I think not, because they have not learnt the true art of dancing, and have thus been deprived of the pleasure of expressing their feelings by poetical and rhythmical gestures which invariably bring about a sense of relief. I have often been asked which I consider people far more than it does into the lives is the saddest and which the most joyous of the English nation. For nearly five hun- nation of dancers. To the former query dred years the Czars of the Russian people I should reply, \" The Russians.\" The have endowed the art of dancing. When- Spaniards are the gayest, then the Italians ; ever a great dancer arose in Italy, France, the French are gay and insouciant, the or Spain, that dancer was invited to Russia, Germans merry but somewhat heavy. The and while we have, as far as possible, Russians can express melancholy, sadness, developed all that was best in our own dancers, and the other extremes—complete joy, gaiety, we have seen that we have also had the best and mirth, more than any other nation in the of the art of foreign artistes. world. And the English ? What do I think EFORE I paid my first visit to England I was told that the classical art of the grand ballet had become quite out of date, and that the last generation who saw the Taglioni dance had pro- claimed that public interest in the art had died with her. I have noticed that such is very far from the case. If only more real encouragement were given in England to ballet dancers the day would not be far distant when the English dancer would prove a formidable rival to the Russian. How can this be done ? In the first place, I am strongly of opinion that the English nation ought to endow a National School of Dancing, so that it might take the sadness out of the gait and manner of the English people. It is not sufficient that the art of dancing should be preserved on the stage.

THE FINE ART OF DANCING. 447 of the English as a nation of dancers ? 1 have found English children who arc capable of learn- ing the highest form of the art of dancing ; but to me your ballroom is amusing without being dignified. The''Turkey Trot,\" for instance, is not very artistic. 1 have seen delightfully pretty young ladies dancing the \" Turkey Trot \" and the \" Cake Walk.\" C'est horrible .' N'est-ce pas I And I know, because I have tried the \" Turkey Trot \" myself, so that 1 can speak from experi- ence. Indeed, once, when in the United States, and bearing in mind the undoubted truth of the saying which tells us \" To know- all is to forgive all;\" I Vol. xlvi.— 57. ANNA PAVLOVA. tried to find pleasure in the latest craze. I knew , I think, all there was to know about the \"Turkey Trot \"—but I could not forgive it. It jarred on my nerves, and I am not exaggerating when I say- that even to-day 1 still sometimes shudder over the experience. As I view things, dancing is a great art. It is akin to poetry and music. Our dances are affected by our mode of life, by the sort of clothes we wear. The Grecian dances, for example, with their freedom of move- ment are onlv possible in the loose robes of the period, just in the same way that in the period of the crinoline you had the sedate and stately motions

448 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. of the minuet. Then you have your country dances — the Highland fling and the Morris dances — how prettily they go with the costumes of the dancers. I think not a little might be done to improve dancing in England by having it taught in your schools. But it should be taught as music is taught, as one of the English people is aroused in the art of dancing, if only they will learn something of the training, something of the behind-the- scenes life of a dancer at our Russian Imperial theatres, then surely the time must soon come to pass when England, like Russia, will become a nation of dance-lovers. So let me hasten to tell you something of of the arts, and not as part of the gymnastic- exercises or the sports and amusements of the school. Some of your games for girls do not improve deportment. In hockey, for instance, where the girls play in a stooping position, they may easily lose their graceful carriage, which is so necessary in a ballroom. Would you like to hear how we Russian dancers are trained ? That would please me much, for I feel that if only the interest 9 ANNA PAVLOVA IN \" PAFILLON, our early training. Between the ages of nine and twelve, or thereabouts, boys and girls of sufficient promise are taken intothe ballet school. Here, I must tell you, they receive, not only instruction in music, dancing, and dramatic art, but also in the ordinary branches of educa- tion. In every large school, of course, when there are many

THE FINE ART OF DANCING. 449 boys and girls in a chtss, a certain amount of difficulty must be experi- ence] in finding out exactly what meec of progress each in- dividual is making. To obviate this difficulty, therefore, as far as dancing is concerned, ex- aminations are held every year, and those pupils who do not sdore a certain percentage of marks are told that their services are no longer required. You will understand that, to the trained dancer, to the dancer who has given up some of the best years of her early youth to mastering her art, not only do the legs dance, but the eyes, the hands, the neck, the head, the arms, the mouth — in fine, the whole body dances. The older pupils spend a good deal of time in prac- 1 ice by them- selves. I re- member one young man who sometimes danced six hours a day. One of my friends, a dancer who has now attained a high position in her profession, used to go to the country in the summer and practise four hours a day under the supervision of her brother — a very fine dancer. As in all other departments of art, success depends very largely on personal initiative and hard work. Even the suc- cessful ballerina can- not allow herself to become slack. If she is to preserve her technique she must dance exercises every WASSKLENA. S. FEDOROWA. 5- 2. LYDIA KYASUT. 4- ADELINE GF.NEE ADAMOVITCH.

THE STRAND MAGAZINE. day on the same principle as a pianist plays scales. She must be so perfect a mistress of tech- nique that when she- is on the stage she need think of noth- ing but the expres- sion to be given to the dances she executes. But the Russian dancers are not per- j mitted to grow old in service. A score of years represent their little day. and at the age of thirty- seven a dancer re- tires on a pension which provides generously for her future. A pity, indeed, it is that similar encourage- ment is not given to students of the ballet in England to-day ! And yet, surely, what Russia has done ANNA PAVLOVA. I. IN \" LES ORIENT ALES.\" 2. IN \"PAPLLI.ON.\" 3. IN \"LE CYGNE.\" 4. IN \"LECYGNK.\" 5. IN \" l.'AUTOMNK BACCHANALS.\" 6. PORTRAIT STUDY.

THE FINE ART OF DANCING. 45i England, too, can do. Almostevery country is glorified by a world- famous ballet. We have the Waltz of the Burghers taken from \" Faust\" ; we have the \" Carmen \" ballets and the \" Aida \" ballets, and the Dance of the Hours from \" Gioconda.\" But Great Britain is unrepresented. I have, too. often built day-dreams of a Scottish ballet, because I can see infinite pos- sibilities in the action and vitality of the Highland flings and reels. Moreover, one has always the charm and pic- turesqueness of the costume— by no means a small point to be considered. Yes, yes, beyond all manner of doubt there is a great gold-mine of romance hidden in the moors and lochs of Scotland. I can see the Scottish ballet wonder- fully clearly. I can see it all —the village in the purple glen, the grey church in the distance. And the story ?

452 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. realistic excellent found a t i o n for a great artistic bal- let. As far as Scotch dancing concerned, I have always thought that it bears a greater re- semblance to the Taran- tella of Italy

THE FINE ART OF DANCING. 453 question to answer, for I love so many. On the whole, however, I think I like best \" The Swan,\" with its lovely accompaniment by Saint-Saens ; the \" Valse Caprice \" of Rubinstein ; and, of course, the \" Automne Bacchanale.\" The latter dance is always a frightful strain, as it requires as much intense acting as it does dancing. But what matter ? I find real enjoyment in every form of my art. At the present time I am never hap- pier than when watching the progress made by my old pupils. As I note the joy they feel at being praised for good work I recall my own child- hood's days, when I used to dream of my life as a ballerina. All the night long I lay think- ing of the days when the world was to ac- claim me a great than to anything else. On occasions I have heard Scottish danc- ing compared to Russian dancing, but. frankly, I can find no point of resemblance between the styles of the two countries. The exuberant snouts that punctuate Scotch dances are unknown in Russia, but they have their counterpart in the thrilling Tarantella of Southern Italy. Yes, I am convinced that, given a powerful and ade- quate musical score, the Scottish ballet would prove not only a very great insular success, but probably a world-wide triumph. Perhaps you would like to know my favourite dances ? This is not an easy TAMAR KARSAVIXA. I. IN ORDINARY BALLET DRESS. 2. IN \"CARNAVAL.\" 3 AND 4. WITH NIJINSKI IN \" LE SPECTRE DE LA ROSE.\" 5. IN \"I-'OISEAU DE FEU.\" 6. IN \" LK SPECTRE DE LA ROSE.'* 7. WITH I ROHMAN IN \"THE I1LUE GOD.\" 8. IN \"THE BI.Ua GOD.\" 9. WITH ADOLF BQLM IN \"THAMAR.''

454 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. dancer. The next morning I nervously spoke of my hopes to my mother, who replied, \" If you are to become a dancer you will have to leave me and go to the school of the ballet. Does my little daughter want to leave her mother ? \" \" No, I don't want to leave you/' I re- plied, half in tears, \"but if it must be doneinorder to be a bal- lerina, then Imustdoit.\" Alt hough for the time being my wishes were denied me, I think that conversa- tion laid the foundation- stone of my career. E n g lish- womenhave fine faces, graceful figures, and a real sense ofthepoetry of dancing. They only lack train- ing to pro- v i d e the best dancers in the world. 1. MICHAEL MORDKIX. 2. NIJINSKI. 3. TORTOLA VALENCIA. V

Tke Supreme Event. By HORACE ANNESLEY VACHELL. Illustrated by W. E. Webster. OHN learned the terrifying truth after his engagement. Indeed, the young lady kept it as a surprise. Man and maid met at Murren during a wet week. Each was reason- ably keen about skating, and each played piquet. They fell in love at first sight, and the affair ran smoothly and swiftly up to a certain moment. They were sitting together, and quite alone. Mabel put her pretty lips close to his ear and whispered :— \" I have something to tell you.\" Armitage smiled. Foolish man ! He was presumptuous enough to believe that the something had been told before, and would be told again and again with cumulative sweetness. \" Yes, Mab ? \" \" I am the Miss Simpson !\" The accent upon the definite article was startlingly emphatic. No man—least of all a lover—eould doubt that this information, so carefully suppressed, was of tremendous importance to the speaker. Happily, John was a man of sensibility and tact, Instantly he dissembled, for it was quite unthinkable that he should reply :— \" My darling, never, never have I heard of the Miss SimpSDn.\" Afterwards he came to the conclusion that the truth between lovers, however stark it may appear, should prevail. Such wisdom comes to most men and nearly all women too late. John pressed her hand which happened to lie in his. \" The Miss Simpson ? \" he repeated. There was an accent of awe in his voice. \" Yes,\" she murmured. \" Dearest, do you mind marrying a celebrity ? \" A celebrity! His blood curdled. He racked his unhappy brains. Why had he never heard of the Miss Simpson ? He Vol. xlvL-58. divined, poor wretch ! that anything even approximating to an admission of such ignorance would cost him dear. Desperately, clutching at shadows of all celebrities, he murmured as sweetly as she :— \" Mind marrying—you ! But, why have you kept this from me ? \" Her answer was even more perplexing than what had gone before. \" You see, John, we decided, mother and I, when we chose Murren, that it would be wiser, less boring, if I came here incognita. Simpson, fortunately, is a common name. And we agreed not to talk shop, my shop. I have never talked shop to you, for instance, have 1 ? \" \" Not that I can remember.\" She laughed delightfully, showing her pretty teeth and an enchanting pair of dimples. John kissed her to hide his con- fusion and distress. At this moment the gods took pity on him. Mrs. Simpson

45<> THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \" Nor have I,\" said John, miserably. Then they both laughed. John explained. It was vital, of course, that he should find out at once everything that was to be known about the celebrity, but—how ? How ? \" Leave that to me,\" said the kindly Henry. \" Hold hard ! Let's talk this over. In what line could Mab be a celebrity ? \" Henry hazarded a wild guess. \" Novelist ? \" John shook his head. \" Impossible. I know 'em all by name.\" \" Actress ? \" \" Try again. Between us we may arrive at something. I know the names of actresses, singers, pianists, fiddlers, painters, and sculptors. We have this clue, old man: she has not talked shop to me. Now—wait ! We've talked over all the winter sports, and she doesn't shine at any of them. We've discussed books, pictures, and plays. And music.\" \" Be perfectly calm, John. I've got it.\" \" Speak, or for ever hold your peace ! \" \" I'll bet you she's a suffragette. Cat and mouse—eh ? Escaped from starvation— what ? \" \" Mab doesn't look like that. Suffragette —no ! Suffragist, well, it's just possible.\" \" I'll ask Dalton ; he knows everything. He's playing auction in the next room. You sit tight till I come back.\" John smoked four cigarettes before Henry returned. One glance at his friend's honest face was reassuring. He knew, and the knowledge had not distressed him. \" It's all right. Dalton is a wonder. Miss Simpson is a famous tennis player. She got into the semi-finals at Wimbledon last July. Dalton says she will be champion of the world one day.\" \" Lady champion ? How awful! \" \" Might be worse,\" said Henry, cheerfully. \" She might have been a lady doctor, or a lady whistler.\" \" I hate lawn-tennis.\" \" So do I, but it's a nice, clean, healthy game, although ruinous to the complexion— in time.\" They stared at each other with lack-lustre eyes. Then Henry poured balm upon his friend's lacerated tissues. \" Let's face this like men of the world. You are engaged to be married to a really charming girl. She's as fit as a fiddle and hard as nails. You have a lot in common. The thing is just right, barring this tennis, but fortunately you have no profession and an ample income.\" \" I don't quite take you, Henry ? \" \" I mean this. You can trot about with her to tournaments, and look after her.\" \" Pick up the balls ?\" Deep despair thrilled his pleasant voice. \" Cheer up ! I repeat, you can afford in every sense of the word to humour Mabel



453 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. him, because the fellow was so keen, such an uphill player, so cheery when off his game. Poor John nodded gloomily. He had inherited some very beautiful silver—por- ringers, salvers, tankards, and the like— which gleamed with mellow splendour upon a Queen Anne dresser in the dining-room. Mrs. Simpson had praised the dresser. \" It's rather nice,\" John admitted, modestly. \" But, John, dear, how splendid Mabel's pots will look on it ! \" Mabel's pots ! There were dozens of them, culled from every silversmith in the Metro- politan area. \" Some people/' continued Mrs. Simpson, severely, \" sell their pots and their jewellery. Dear Mab has never degraded herself by doing that. Take Tom Slagg \" \" If you'll excuse me, I'd rather not,\" murmured John. \" Enough is as good as a feast.\" \" Tom Slagg sells everything. He keeps a sort of jeweller's shop. I call him a ' pro.' I am so proud of Mabel's trophies ! \" They were spread upon that ancient dresser. They remained there. The eyes of dead-and- gone Armitages glared down upon silver and silver-gilt with ever-deepening reproach and derision. John was sensible of their dis- approval. He shared it, but what could he say ? What could he do ? He did the one thing possible and decent. He locked up the tankards and porringers. It was Bott who suggested the propriety of inviting Windlesham and Mrs. Pragson to spend three weeks in Dorset. '\" I must practise with Mabel,\" he said. \" You know Windlesham ; and Mrs. Pragson is a corker. Forty-five—I give you my word —and still the most formidable woman in England—bar two.\" John would have barred them all except Mabel, but he said not a word. Mrs. Pragson arrived with many racquets. She was short, squat, black-avised, with a complexion that matched the Queen Anne dresser. Windlesham accompanied her, the ex-champion of the world. Photographs of the new court and the old players appeared in half-a-dozen papers. John read many para- graphs as follows :— \" Armitage Court is now the centre of the liveliest interest. The ancient manor has never, if we may say so, sheltered at one time so many distinguished persons.\" In the solitude of his own den John said :— \" Confound it! \" III. Tee gallant fellow tried to play the game under his wife's tutelage. He practised assiduously against the back-wall , he studied tactics. In a single Mabel could give him fifteen and owe forty ! She liked to play with him, but Windlesham sternly forbade such altruism. John agreed. Nothing must im- peril Mabel's chances for the championship.

THE SUPREME EVENT. 459 is the best of the lot. He's keen about other things. Golf, for instance.\" \" Golf! Heaven help Mm ! \" \" And dry fly-fishing.\" \" That's much better. I fish myself. A successful fisherman must be an intelligent man. Great opportunities, too, for intro- spection and observation. How are you getting on, John, with your microscopical work ? \" _ - * \"Down and out,\" replied John, uncon- sciously quoting Bott, \" It was only pat- ball. I'm shaping nicely at the wall-game.\" \" Wall-game ? - You play football in June?\" John explained. Toomer opened a capa- cious mouth to reply, glanced at John's amiable face, and remained for the first time in his life absolutely silent. At dinner that night Toomer sat next to Mrs. Pragson, who was in wonderful form. She could do just two things better than any woman of her advanced years—play tennis and talk about it afterwards. Said she to Toomer:— \" Extraordinary, isn't it, what adulation a champion receives nowadays ? \" \" You are speaking of Jack Johnson ? \" \" Jack—Johnson ? \" \" The coloured prize-fighter.\" \" I never heard of him. I was speaking of the lawn-tennis champion.\" Toomer was traite honest with her. \" Who is he ? \" he asked. Mrs. Pragson turned purple. That was her only available tint in moments of excite- ment. Then she addressed the assembled company in tones of scathing scorn. \" Mr. Toomer,\" she announced, \" does not know the name of the present champion. I positively refuse to enlighten him.\" \" It doesn't matter,\" said Toomer, grimly. \" I asked the question out of mere politeness. Let us call him X ? Does X receive much adulation ? \" \" Tons and tons! More than anybody else.\" \" Oh, come ! More than, let us say, Madame Melba ? \" \" I hope so. Our enthusiasm about music and all that sort of thing is rather a pose. If you had said—Jessop ? \" \" And who is Jessop ? \" asked Toomer. Bott's prominent eyes nearly popped out of his head. He asked, solemnly :— \"Is it possible that you have never seen Jessop bat ? \" \" Oh ! a cricketer. Yes, yes, I have heard of Jessop.\" \" It is quite obvious,\" remarked Mrs. Pragson, \" that you don't care about games. Mr. Toomer.\" ■ . / \" I don't,\" said Toomer. \" I have never shattered my self-respect by hitting at, or kicking, a ball. Well, well, I had no intention- of astonishing you \" (Oh, Toomer !), *£' but short sight and varicose veins have constrained me to give my attention and

460 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. \"OLD HIGGS WAS DRIVING TERRIFICALLY, SENDING THE BALLS TO MABEL'S BACK HAND. MABEL GAME AFTER DEUCE HAD Bott expressed the general sense of John's other guests, when he remarked :— \" That fellow Toomer is un-English ! \" IV. At Wimbledon, in July, Mabel triumphed gloriously. She fought her way, smilingly, to the top of the tennis tree. She won the semi-final of the All Comers' Ladies' Singles. Bott and she were only barely defeated in the final of the Mixed Doubles. The great match for the All Comers' followed. It took place, of course, in the centre court, and attracted an immense crowd. John watched the sets from his seat in the competitors' gallery. Mabel's fame shed a reflected lustre upon him. Everybody talked tennis to him. Maidens, with the complexion and the stride of an Indian chief, entreated his advice. One or two demanded his autograph ! When an eminent jurist asked him suddenly what he thought of the political situation, he replied:— \" 'Vantage, I think, to server ! \" Outwardly he was calm. But civil war waged within. He was more in love with his pretty wife than ever, and her conduct throughout the long tournament evoked his sincere respect and admiration. For her dear sake he prayed for victory; for his own, he dared to adumbrate defeat. Victory meant a prolongation of purgatory for him, but it would exalt her to the highest heaven. Defeated, Mabel might give a thought to the empty nursery. John ground his teeth with rage when he thought of Armitage Court passing to his next of kin, whom he detested.

THE SUPREME EVENT. 461 RETURNED THEM, SMILING. THE CROWD HOWLED ITSELF HOARSE WHEN SHE CAPTURED THE THIRD BEEN CALLED NINE TIMES.\" Mabel—God bless her—would make the most delightful mother. She had good sense, good temper, good health. What attributes for a potential matron ! Her antagonist provoked comparisons and uneasy speculations. Mrs. Higginbotham was an ex - champion, one of the old Wimbledon Guard. Her face was as terrify- ing as her overhand service. Mabel, alas ! served underhand, and, therefore, was manifestly at a disadvantage. The ex-cham- pion was famous for her all - round stroke equipment, and—as the reporters said—the \" fine generalship which directed it.\" Mabel, on the other hand, was much younger, more active, and a finer back-line player. The experts predicted a tremendous match, a fight to the closest finish. More, it was whispered that the winner of the All Comers' would be Open Champion. The holder was said to be out of form. During the first two games Mabel scored but one point. Mrs. Higginbotham \" rushed \" her. The redoubtable lady \" ran in \" on her judiciously-placed service, and smashed Mabel's returns. Bott whispered to John :— \" Old Higgs can't keep that up. It tires— even me.\" Mabel smiled confidently. Again Bott whispered to John :— \" Mabel's smile warms the cockles of my heart. She has the temperament. Old Higgs hasn't. If Mabel gets the best of her presently, hair will be flying about the court ! \" \" Mrs. Higginbotham looks ferocious.\" \" Yes ; early in life she got the tennis face.\" John sighed. Would his Mabel acquire those deep furrows between her pretty brows,

462 THE STRAND MAGAZINE. that prim expression, those massive shoulders and hips ? Biff ! Bang ! Old Higgs was driving terrifically, sending the balls to Mabel's back hand. Mabel returned them, smiling. The crowd howled itself hoarse when she captured the third game after deuce had been called nine times. Bott was trembling' with excitement and enthusiasm. John became acutely sensible that this man beside him was keener than himself. He heard Bott saying :— \" Popular opinion counts in these contests. The will of the crowd. Ninety-nine out of every hundred here want Mabel to win. That's an asset ! \" \" Shush-h-h ! \" murmured Porson, who was just behind. John realized that this match ought to be played in breathless silence. The result went up on the great scoring- board. The voice of the umpire drifted across the ground :— \" Three games to one. Mrs. Higginbotham leads.\" John felt that his satisfaction was indecent. He muttered to himself : \" My Mab must win. I really want her to win. She deserves to win.\" The stand rocked when Mabel took the fifth game. She had begun to pass her antagonist down the side lines. Again and again her balls pitched within a few inches of them. \" What a lovely length ! \" said Bott. Old Higgs won the sixth game on her ser- vice, but she moved less swiftly to the centre of the court. Then a very demon of energy and determination seemed to possess her. Bott had to admit that she w\\as irresistible. She had grasped the vital necessity of over- whelming a younger and more active player. First set to Mrs. Higginbotham ! Six games to two ! The two women met near the umpire's chair. John could see that Mabel was saying something pleasant to the ex-champion. What a darling ! What a sportswoman ! Toomer ought to have seen that. Old Higgs smiled grimly as she listened to Mabel's congratulations. Mabel had not turned a hair. John's- heart bounded within him. Bott, however, was grinding his teeth and making inarticulate noises. His face brightened when he saw Mrs. Higginbotham's hand go to her mouth. \" Thank the Lord ! \" he exclaimed. \" What's up ? \" inquired John. By this time any mean wish that his beloved might be defeated had passed from him. He would have melted down the porringers and tank- ards and turned his famous Gainsborough face to the wall had such sacrifices been exacted by the gods. \" Old Higgs has indigestion.\" \" What ? \" \" She's just stuffed a bismuth lozenge into her mouth. There goes another. Yes, the

THE SUPREME EVENT. 463 will never be forgotten by those who heard it. Deliberately, after her own graceful fashion, Mabel had righted a wrong, giving back the lost point to her antagonist with a smile which captivated the multitude. \" I couldn't have done that,\" said Bott. \" What a girl! What a woman ! \" \" What a wife ! \" thought John. The third and final set began in impressive silence. From a technical point of view it was not so interesting as those which had pre- ceded it. Neither player dared to be brilliant. The Higginbotham remained on the back \" This is only a game.\" But he knew it w:as much more than that. It seemed to him, as he stared at his wife, that this \" game,\" the game which he secretly detested, was revealing to him a new Mabel. He began to understand what games have done for England, what the winning and the losing may mean in their ultimate effect upon character. And he knew instinctively that defeat, not victory, would reveal his young wife to him, so that he would see her with clear vision. If her courage failed, if her smile vanished, then he would have to acknow - ' FIVE GAMES ALL ! ' THE EXCITEMENT WAS BEGINNING TO TELL UPON JOHN. HE EXPERIENCED ODD THRILLS CHASING THEMSELVES UP AND DOWN HIS SPINAL COLUMN.\" line, the ball travelled from one end to the other with a precision that became mono- tonous. Throughout this set the elder woman, although betraying signs of distress, played with increasing judgment and steadiness. \" She'll just pull it off,\" said Bott. \" The fire is going out of Mabel's drive ; her back hand is getting weaker.\" The veteran was well aware of this. Five games all ! The excitement was beginning to tell upon John. He experienced odd thrills chasing themselves up and down his spinal column. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, because they were trembling. Twice tears came into his eyes. He reflected :— VoL xlvi.-B9. ledge that this game was indeed too big a thing in her eyes, that winning it meant the loss of a sense of proportion, a monstrous inflation of heart and head. The Higginbotham won the sixth game easily. John gazed at Mabel as she crossed into the other court. For an instant their eyes met. Her glance was not reassuring. He beheld a tennis face in its first phase of manu- facture. Mabel still smiled, but the smile was set and hard. Faint lines showed them- selves upon her smooth forehead. There was an unmistakable likeness between her and the Higginbotham. She began to serve.