MR. SMEETH GETS HIS RISE 285

side and, ten minutes later, was seated snugly at a little
table in the teashop.

He could not help feeling richer than he had done
that morning. Now he was practically a four-hundred-a-
year man instead of a three-hundred-a-year man. He felt
that he was entitled to celebrate this promotion in his
own quiet way. So he began by ordering a good solid
high tea, and then searched his paper to discover what
was happening that night in the world of entertainment.
There was a symphony concert at the Queen's Hall He
would go there. He had never been to the Queen's Hall,
had always thought of the concerts there as being a bit
above his head. Symphony concerts at the Queen's Hall
—it did sound rather heavy, rather alarming too, but
he would try it. After all, although he didn't pretend to
know much about it, he did like music, indeed liked
nothing better than music, and there would be sure to
be something he could enjoy, and the Queen's Hall, ex-
pensive and highbrow as it sounded, couldn't kill him.
So far, he had got his music from gramophone records
and the wireless, bands in the park or at the seaside,
popular concerts in North London or occasionally at
the Kingsway Hall and the Central Hall, and nights in
the gallery in the old days to hear the Carl Rosa Com-
pany do Carmen and Rigoletto and that one about the
pierrots, Pag-lee-atchy he supposed they called it. Well,
this would be a new move, this Symphony Concert in
the Queen's Hall, a bit of an adventure. He ate his tea
deliberately, as usual, but with a little inner glow of
excitement.

He arrived at the Queen's Hall in what he imagined
to be very good time, but was surprised to find, after
paying what seemed to him a stiffish price, that there