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LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
RIVERSIDE

"-\

A^l-V-*

GREEN GINGER

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

TALES OF MEAN STREETS
A CHILD OF THE JAGO
TO LONDON TOWN
CUNNING MURRELL
THE HOLE IN THE WALL
DIVERS VANITIES

GREEN GINGER

ARTHUR MORRISON

So hey with a whim-wham from the lande of green ginger

A Peck of Madnesse

THIRD EDITION

London: HUTCHINSON & CO.

Paternoster Row 1909

GUY

CONTENTS

PAGE

A SKINFUL OF TROUBLE I

THE ABSENT THREE ....... 26

THE STOLEN BLENKINSOP ...... 41

CAP'EN JOLLYFAX'S GUN 65

SNORKEY TIMMS, HIS MARKS . . . 78

THE COPPER CHARM 96

DOBBS'S PARROT 114

THE SELLER OF HATE . . . . . .133

THE RODD STREET REVOLUTION .... 156

THE CHAMBER OF LIGHT ...... 177

MR. BOSTOCK'S BACKSLIDING 192

THE HOUSE OF HADDOCK 2l8

A LUCIFO MATCH 233

ARTS AND CRAFTS 254

WICKS'S WATERLOO 2-72

THE DRINKWATER ROMANCE 289

A Skinful of Trouble

OF all the afflictions brought on a suffering
civilization by the Limited Liability Acts
as they stand in the statutes of this commercial
country, few can exceed the troubles, pains, and
harassments of Mr. Nathaniel Dowdall, con-
sequent on his investment of an odd hundred
pounds in Filer's Royal and Imperial Circus,
Limited. It was no matter of a public issue of
shares at the hands of a professional promoter,
no case of a glowing prospectus with a titled
directorate. Filer, of Filer's Royal and Imperial
Circus, indeed, made fresh issues of shares when-
ever he found the opportunity, and wherever
he fell across the confiding investor. He was
managing director, and, it is to be presumed, the
rest of the board also. He was Filer, and there
was the long and short, the thick and thin, the
beginning and end of it. From time to time the
capital of Filer, Limited, was increased by just
as much as some hopeful stranger might be per-
suaded to entrust to Filer, managing director, in

i B

GREEN GINGER

exchange for an elegantly printed certificate con-
stituting him a partner (limited) in the joys and
sorrows of Filer. Then Filer's Royal and Im-
perial Circus passed on, and, if the new shareholder
remained quiescent, there was nobody in the
world so ready to let bygones be bygones as the
magnanimous Filer.

Mr. Nathaniel Dowdall did not remain quies-
cent. He followed Filer with letters, monthly,
fortnightly, and then weekly. Some came back,
through the Dead Letter Office, a few vanished
wholly into the unknown, but some caught Filer
at towns where the circus pitched, and others
overtook him, redirected ; and that in sufficient
numbers to grow, after a year or so, something of a
nuisance to the otherwise unruffled Filer. So much
so, that he went as far as to answer one or two
of the later and more violent, in a tone of flowery
affability. And then Mr. Dowdall wrote thus :

Without Prejudice.

613, BRAMBLEBURV ROAD, STREATHAM HILL, S.W.,
May \$th.

SIR, — I will have no more of your evasions and
promises. You have obtained my money by
fraudulent misrepresentation, and I demand its
instant return. Unless I receive by Thursday
next your cheque for the sum of one hundred
pounds, I shall place the whole affair in the hands

A SKINFUL OF TROUBLE

of my solicitors to deal with as they consider
best, with a view not only to the recovery of
the money, but to the proper punishment of a
disgraceful fraud. This letter is final.
Your obedient servant,

NATHANIEL DOWDALL.

It would be difficult, thought Mr. Dowdall
(and Mrs. Dowdall agreed with him), to devise
a more peremptory missive than this ; though,
indeed, since each of the last two letters had
ended with the declaration that it was final, the
concluding clause might be considered by now to
have lost some of its force. But on the other
hand, " Without Prejudice " was quite new,
and very terrible to behold. Filer's answer,
however, came in this form :

FILER'S ROYAL AND IMPERIAL CIRCUS, LIMITED,
May i6tA.

MY DEAR MR. NATHANIEL DOWDALL, — My
natural delight at hearing once again from so
highly esteemed a friend and partner as yourself
was somewhat chastened by a suspicion that the
tone of your letter was one of irritation. I need
hardly assure you that it would afford me the
highest and purest pleasure to comply with your
thoughtful suggestion that I should send you
my cheque for one hundred pounds, but I have

GREEN GINGER

reason to believe that the presentation of that
cheque at the bank would result in a pang of
disappointment which far be it from me to inflict
upon you. The stream of wealth, in fact, which
is destined inevitably to overtake our enterprise
in time, and which I shall welcome chiefly because
it will enable me to divert a large volume of it
toward you, is meeting with a temporary obstruc-
tion. In the meantime permit me to thank
you for the kind thought which prompted your
charmingly original heading, and to rejoice to
learn that you are still without prejudice against
Your devoted, though

temporarily embarrassed partner,

PLANTAGENET FILER.

Mr. Dowdall perused this letter with eyes that
emerged steadily till they threatened to overhang
his most prominent waistcoat-button. Speechless,
he passed it across the breakfast-table to Mrs.
Dowdall, who, having read it in her turn, barely
mustered the words, " Well I never did ! "

This was Mr. Dowdall's rejoinder, written after
an hour's interval of simmering wrath :

STREATHAM HILL, S.W.,
May IT th.

MR. FILER, — I am not to be turned aside by
impudent flippancy. I may remind you that,

A SKINFUL OF TROUBLE

even though you may have made away with my
money, you have goods which may be seized in
satisfaction of my claim, and unless 1 receive the
sum of which you have defrauded me before the
end of the week I shall take steps to secure it by
the means provided by law. This letter is final.

NATHANIEL DOWDALL.

As Mr. Dowdall anticipated, this produced a
change in Filer's attitude. His answer, still
amiable in tone, indicated surrender :

FILER'S ROYAL AND IMPERIAL CIRCUS, LIMITED,
May I8//5.

MY DEAR MR. DOWDALL, — It grieves me to
perceive, from your last letter, that my fear of a
certain irritation on your part of late was well-
founded, and I hasten to remove all occasion for
an asperity which I feel sure you have already
regretted. My sorrow is chiefly that you should
cut yourself off from participation in the noble
revenues which are shortly to accrue to this
enterprise ; but, rather than my honour should be
in any way called in question, I will even en-
counter the bitterness of this disappointment.
It would increase my distress, if, in addition to
your sacrifice of the golden opportunity, you were
to incur legal expenses ; and therefore I am now

GREEN GINGER

freely handing over to you a valuable part of the
property of this company, more than equivalent
to the sum you have invested. It should arrive in
the course of a day or so, by rail, in a large
case, carriage forward. I am now leaving Eng-
land, with the enterprise, for an extended Conti-
nental tour, and take this opportunity of tendering
you my heartiest farewells, and expressing my
pleasure that our business connection terminates
in friendly concord.

Your late partner, but eternal well-wisher,

PLANTAGENET FILER.

P.S. — The case should be handled with care.
It is not a new one, and in some places it is not
altogether what one might wish. — P. F.

This was far more satisfactory, and Mr. Dow-
dall beamed as he passed the letter to his wife,
who beamed again as she handed it back. Plainly
he had gone the right way to work to bring such
a fellow as Filer to his senses. Clearly Filer had
realized at last that Nathaniel Dowdall was
not to be trifled with, and had offered the best
composition in his power without waiting for a
legal seizure. Perhaps, also, there was a little in
Mrs. Dowdall's suggestion that some traces of
honesty lingered in Filer's system yet ; for, in
truth, he might have left the country without

A SKINFUL OF TROUBLE

notice, and so have removed his goods beyond
the reach of bailiffs.

There were possible awkwardnesses to be con-
sidered, of course. Showmen's accessories were
of little use to Mr. Dowdall, and might prove
difficult to dispose of. But that was a matter best
left till the goods came to hand. For the rest of
that day and for some part of the next Mr. Dow-
dall was patient and hopeful. And then the case
arrived.

Mr. Dowdall was sitting in the inconvenient
little back room which the household was taught
to call his study, and Mrs. Dowdall was consult-
ing him on the eternal domestic question, beef or
mutton ; when the blank and bewildered face of
Selina the housemaid appeared at the door, and
the hand of Selina extended towards Mr. Dowdall
a large biscuit-coloured delivery sheet.

" It's the railway van, sir," announced Selina ;
" and they've brought a tiger."

" A tiger ! " gasped Mr. Dowdall, quite for-
getting to shut his mouth after the utterance.

And " A tiger ! " echoed Mrs. Dowdall,
faintly, opening her mouth wider still.

uYes, m'm," replied the housemaid. "It's
in a big wooden cage, a-nowlin' an' stampin' an'
goin' on dreadful. And there's six pound four
and eightpence to pay."

GREEN GINGER

In the blank pause that followed, vague
rumblings, shouts, and yelps from the direction
of the street reached the ears of Mr. Dowdall,
like the ancestral voices that prophesied war to
Kubla Khan. He rose, murmuring helplessly ;
his murmurs increased as he reached the study
door, and the burden of their plaint was, " Six
pound four and eightpence ! "

Then he turned suddenly on Selina. " I won't
have it ! " he exclaimed. " Send it away."

And Mrs. Dowdall, awakened to a sudden
sense of danger, caught his arm, pushed Selina
into the passage, and shut the door after her in
one complicated spasm of presence of mind.

The noises from the street grew in volume,
and it was clear that a public attraction had
been scented, and the inevitable torrent of shouting
boys had set in. Presently Selina returned with
the report that, whether Mr. Dowdall paid the
railways charges or waited to be sued for them,
the tiger addressed to him would be delivered
there and then. The men, it seemed, had given
her to understand that the tiger's society was
no longer desired, either by themselves or by
any other person connected with the railway.

" Nonsense ! " exclaimed Mr. Dowdall, re-
covering something of his natural sense of civic
propriety. <c People can't be expected to take in

A SKINFUL OF TROUBLE

any tigers anybody likes to address to them ! It
would undermine the whole fabric of society.
I — I won't be bullied. Is the front door shut ? "

The front door was shut, and with so much
of assured security Mr. Dowdall betook himself
to the drawing-room, the window whereof com-
manded the nearest view of the street and the
area railings. Boys were competing for seats on
those same railings, and the standing-room in
the street was growing rapidly less. From the
tail of a large van stout planks sloped, and down
these planks slid a huge wooden, iron-bound case,
lowered by many ropes in the hands of several
excited men. From within the case came angry
growls, and as it reached the pavement, Mr.
Dowdall observed that its front was a sort of
door of stout iron-clamped planks, with narrow
intervals between them, through which intervals
came glimpses of restless fiery yellow fur.

The case came to rest before the railings, and
the carman, perceiving Mr. Dowdall at the
window, waved the biscuit-coloured delivery sheet
and hailed him. Mr. Dowdall raised the sash
and parleyed.

" Are you goin' to pay this 'ere money now,
sir? " demanded the carman.

"Certainly not," retorted Mr. Dowdall. "I
don't want a tiger — I didn't order one — the whole

GREEN GINGER

thing's a — a clerical error. Mark it * Dead
Parcels Office ' and take it back ! "

" Dead parcels ! " repeated the carman, with
withering scorn. " It about the livest parcel /
ever see, an' it's pretty near marked some of
us gettin' it 'ere. Dead parcels ! It's my orders
to leave it 'ere, pay or not, sign or not ; an' the
comp'ny'll see you about the charges arterwards.
Dead parcels ! 'Ere, git up ! "

And with that the carman sought his perch,
and the van clattered away with its retinue of
ropes, planks, and wholly untipped porters.

The crowd was bigger and noiser every minute,
and the bolder among the boys were already
tentatively pushing sticks between the planks,
to the manifest disapproval of the tiger ; and as
he watched, Mr. Dowdall recalled the warning
that the case was " not altogether what one might
wish." He broke into a sweat of apprehension,
wildly wondering what would be the legal charge
for an ordinary street boy devoured by a tiger.
And as he wondered there appeared, towering
above the heads by the street corner, a policeman's
helmet.

The policeman elbowed steadily through the
crowd, sternly ordering it to " pass along there,"
without any particular result. He walked
cautiously round the case and observed the

A SKINFUL OF TROUBLE

direction on the label. Then he ascended
Mr. Dowdall's front steps and was about to
ring the bell ; when Mr. Dowdall, with diplo-
matic resource, addressed him first from the
window.

"Good morning, constable," he said. " There's
a tiger down there I want cleared away from my
doorstep."

This would not seem to have been a request
for which the policeman was prepared. He
paused, looked back at the case, and then again
at Mr. Dowdall.

" It's your tiger, sir," he said at length.

" Oh, no," replied Mr. Dowdall, airily ; " not
at all. Somebody seems to have dropped it —
out of a cart, I fancy." He inwardly con-
gratulated himself on the conscientious accuracy
of this conjecture. " Yes," he added, " I am
pretty sure it was dropped out of a cart."

" It's got your name and address on it, anyhow,"
retorted the policeman.

'< Ah, yes, yes ; that's merely a — a coincidence.
A tiger might have anybody's name on it, you
know ; not at all uncommon. Done to throw
you off the scent. I should think there'd be
quite a handsome reward for finding a thing
like that, if you took it to the station."

The policeman, sternly contemptuous, dis-
1 1

GREEN GINGER

regarded the suggestion. " That tiger's causin'
an obstruction," he said severely.

" Yes," assented Mr. Dowdall. " Shocking !
I give it in charge."

The constable, with rising wrath, surveyed the
crowd that now filled the street, and turned once
more to Mr. Dowdall. " That tiger's your
property," he said, "and if you don't take it
indoors it'll be my dooty to summons you."
And with that he produced a notebook and
wrote laboriously.

And now as he wrote, a sergeant arrived, who
positively ordered Mr. Dowdall to take his tiger
indoors instantly. Mr. Dowdall desperately con-
templated the prospect of standing a siege of
public, police, and tiger combined ; when there
arrived on the heels of the others an inspector,
a far better diplomatist than either of his inferior
officers. He first carefully examined the case
and its inscriptions, and then politely inquired
if Mr. Dowdall were in any way connected with
Filer's Circus. Mr. Dowdall was cornered. To
deny Filer's Circus to a responsible police-officer
meant to renounce hope of redress from Filer.
Mr. Dowdall first hesitated, and then admitted
his partnership ; and straightway was deprived of
all defence.

" Ah, just so," said the diplomatic inspector.

A SKINFUL OF TROUBLE

" I see you've a nice wide stable entrance in the
side road — we'll see about getting him in there.
Three or four men with rollers and crowbars can
do it in no time. I should think you could get
the men and the tackle too from Brady's in
five minutes ; I'll send a man to see about it
for you."

Now, perhaps partly because of the soothing
manner of the inspector, Mr. Dowdall was
beginning to feel a little less alarmed at the state
of affairs. The tiger had not killed anybody yet,
and seemed to have grown a good deal quieter
now that his not very roomy habitation had come
to rest ; and that same habitation had as yet
shown no signs of giving way anywhere. The
front planks were so strong, the padlock was so
very large, and the air-spaces were so very narrow
that the creature could scarcely see, let alone get
out. And indeed a tiger was no doubt rather
a valuable possession, if you could find a buyer.
There would be no great risk in allowing the
case and its prisoner to stand in the back garden,
with all doors locked, for a little while — an hour
or so — till he could get an offer for it. For by
now Mr. Dowdall's natural business instincts
were beginning to assert themselves, and he had
formed a plan.

He calmed the natural agitation of Mrs.

GREEN GINGER

Dowdall, and dispatched an urgent telegram to
Padgebury, the eminent wild beast dealer of
Shadwell, thus :

To PADGEBURY, or anybody in charge, Shadwell. — Come
instantly. Magnificent business opening. Unusual opportunity.
— DOWDALL, 613, Bramblebury Road, S.W.

This done, Mr. Dowdall resigned himself, with
comparative equanimity, to observing the exertions
of a dozen dishevelled men, who, with strong
arms and much stronger language, shoved and
hauled and scuffled the iron-bound case along the
pavement and round the corner, and so through
the gates at the side, amid the enthusiasm of the
populace, and to the newly aroused growls and
flops of the tiger. Somebody suggested a joint
of beef to keep the beast quiet, and all the men
suggested beer for other purposes, when at last
the case rested in the farthest corner of the stable-
yard. The joint of beef was found to be too
large to pass between the planks, when presented
at the end of a pole, and so had to be hacked
into small pieces ; but the only distinct complaint
about the beer was that it was not large enough.
On the whole, considering these things and the
railway company's claims, Mr. Dowdall found
himself making a considerable further investment
in Filer.

Also he discovered that he had the honour of

A SKINFUL OF TROUBLE

receiving the famous Wrestling Tiger, as an-
nounced by a bill which the thoughtful Filer had
pasted on one side of the case ; whereon it was made
known that at Filer's Royal and Imperial Circus
the gifted quadruped would wrestle a fall every
night in its cage, with its trainer, or with any
gentleman in the house who would oblige ; having
already killed fifteen champion wrestlers in sundry
European capitals, with great applause from the
discriminating public. Mr. Dowdall was some-
what gratified to find himself in possession of so
valuable an animal, and blamed himself for his
early anxiety to repudiate its ownership.

Early in the afternoon a man arrived from
Padgebury's. He was a mild, colourless person,
in shabby corduroys, and he had come, he ex-
plained, because Mr. Padgebury and his head
man were out on business, and the telegram
seemed to be important.

"Yes," replied Mr. Dowdall, impressively, "it
was — for Mr. Padgebury ; most important. The
fact is, when I sent that telegram I had reluctantly
decided to part with my tiger — the most magnifi-
cent and talented creature ever placed upon the
market. I'm not so sure about it now, but a
sufficiently good offer might tempt me. It's in
the stable-yard ; go and look at it while I wait
here."

GREEN GINGER

The man shook his head feebly. u Tigers ain't
my department, sir," he said ; " it's the canaries
what I look after If it 'ad a-been a pipin' bull-
finch now '

" Oh, but surely," protested Mr. Dowdall, " as
a responsible man from Padgebury's — a leading
man on the staff, you know — you can deal with
just a simple matter of an ordinary tiger Come
now ; just go and run your eye over him."

But the man shook his head again. " I ain't
no judge of a tiger," he replied. " I don't know
'is p'ints. Anythink in the way of a redpoll I
could take on easy. An' if you ain't sure you
really want to sell 'im, p'r'aps you'd better think it
over for a day or two."

" Oh, no — not at all," Mr. Dowdall interposed
hastily. " I'd rather get the parting over at once
and have done with it. I'd like you to go and
tell Mr. Padgebury about it as soon as he gets
back. It's a most extraordinary tiger — wrestles,
and does card tricks, and all that. When will
Mr. Padgebury be back ? "

The canary-tamer was not quite certain, but it
was pretty sure to be some time in the afternoon.

" Very well, get him to come along at once
with a van. But there's one thing you might
tell me," Mr. Dowdall proceeded, confidentially.
" You'd scarcely believe it, but some of my ser-

A SKINFUL OF TROUBLE

vants are foolishly nervous about that tiger. Now,
you are a man of experience. Couldn't you give
it something to keep it quiet till Mr. Padgebury
comes ? "

" Beef ? " suggested the canary-man, interroga-
tively.

" It's got beef," Mr. Dowdall replied. " But I
don't mean food. Something to send it to sleep,
for instance ? "

" Whisky," replied the shabby man promptly.
" They tame hedgehogs with that."

" But how can I give a tiger whisky ? "

The canary-man rubbed his ear thoughtfully
for a moment. Then he said : <v Force 'is mouth
open and pour it down 'is throat."

But a very little more conversation made it
clear that neither Mr. Dowdall nor the man from
Padgebury's was prepared to adopt this method
personally ; and after a little more negotiation it
was agreed that Padgebury's retainer should visit

e stable-yard with a view to devising a less
adventurous means of administering the whisky.

Presently he returned and reported his plan.
" There's precious little room between the planks,"
he said. " In fact, you can't properly see in with-
out shoving your eye rayther too close to the
door. But there's a bit of an iron trough fixed
inside, with water, an' if I'd got a good large

17 c

GREEN GINGER

basinful o' whisky, an' the garden squirt, 1 think
I could get some of it into the trough."

A quart of whisky was produced accordingly,
and the garden squirt ; and in five minutes more
the canary-man returned to report complete suc-
cess, and to receive a fee of half a crown. Further-
more, he received fervid injunctions to send the
whole Padgebury tiger-staff at the earliest possible
moment ; and so departed.

Perfect silence fell upon the stable-yard. Not
a growl could be heard by a listener from any
window at the back of the house, and the boot-
boy, reconnoitring the stable-yard, reported that
the tiger was motionless at the bottom of the
cage — probably asleep. The household excite-
ment was relieved, and household affairs began
to resume their course.

Half an hour — an hour — an hour and a halt
—two hours passed in peace and quiet ; and then,
with a sudden burst of frantic shrieks, the cook,
the boot-boy, and Selina came up the kitchen
stairs in a rush. The tiger ! The tiger ! The
tiger was climbing through the scullery window !

Who was first and who was last of the whole
household out of the front door will never be
known ; it is merely conjectured that Mr. Dowdall
was not the last, because, foremost in this moment
of peril, he was certainly first round the street

A SKINFUL OF TROUBLE

corner, where he was so fortunate as to butt
heavily into a policeman.

" Good evening, constable," gasped Mr. Dow-
dall, maintaining his balance by hugging the
policeman's arm ; " good evening ! There's an
interesting pet of my wife's gone astray in the
house, and I think if you were to keep guard
at the front door while I send for Padge-
bury's "

" Padgebury's ? " repeated the policeman,
suspiciously. " Padgebury's ? What's this 'ere
pet ? Is it the tiger as there's been such a fuss
about ? "

" Well," admitted Mr. Dowdall, glancing back
apprehensively, " as a matter of fact, it is what
you might more or less call a tiger, so to speak,
but there's no need to feel alarmed on that
account. I give you full authority to use your
truncheon."

" Oh, you do, do you ? " observed the man,
strangely ungratefully. Nevertheless, he looked
cautiously round the corner, and then began to
walk toward Mr. Dowdall's front door, followed
by that gentleman at some little distance. For
it chanced that this was an ambitious young
policeman, anxious to distinguish himself ; and
he hoped that there might be a possibility of doing
it at no vast risk, after all. Wherefore it was

GREEN GINGER

with some irritation that he heard the shriek of
a police-whistle farther up the road, where
Mrs. Dowdall had taken refuge with a friend,
who always kept the instrument handy.

The whistle had the effect of hurrying the
young policeman, who resolved, if he could not
be the sole representative of the force on the spot,
at any rate to be the first. He mounted the
front steps, cautiously approached the open door,
and looked in. He ventured as far as the mat,
and then beyond it, listening intently. And then
he cleared the doorstep in one bound, closing
the door behind him with great agility, but
turning instantly to peep through a clear part
of the glass panel. For he had been scared by
the apparition of a great yellow head rising over
the lower stairs.

tc It's gone upstairs ! " he cried, presently, for
the information of anybody within hearing ; which
was nobody.

For the whistle was attracting stragglers to the
house where its possessor, with distended counte-
nance, was blowing it from the first-floor window,
and Mr. Dowdall, in the doorway of a neighbour
opposite, was dispatching a stream of telegrams
to Padgebury, like minute-guns.

And in the midst of all this arrived Padgebury's
van, with the great Padgebury himself and half

A SKINFUL OF TROUBLE

a dozen stalwart retainers, and much tackle of
iron and rope. Padgebury had started out im-
mediately on the report of his canary-tamer,
and so had escaped the fire of telegrams which
Mr. Dowdall was still maintaining.

The wild beast dealer shook his head when
he learned the state of affairs. " You didn't
say he was loose in the house when you offered
to sell him," he observed, solemnly.

" Well, I was thinking of allowing a discount
in consideration of that," replied Mr. Dowdall ;
" a moderate discount."

Padgebury shook his head again. " In our
trade," he said, " you'll find there's a deal of
difference between a loose tiger and one in a cage.
Loose tigers don't command any price to speak
of. There's no demand for 'em."

Nevertheless, he consented to reconnoitre, with
a view to securing Mr. Dowdall's specimen, on
the understanding that if no deal resulted he
should charge for his services. And so, slowly,
with many precautions, the front door was opened,
and Padgebury and his staff, listening anxiously,
approached the stairs a few steps at a time.

After a pause of careful peeping, Padgebury,
greatly daring, crept up the stairs and listened on
the landing. Then he beckoned silently to his
men, who followed with as little noise as possible.

GREEN GINGER

and found their principal pointing significantly
at a bedroom door, standing ajar, from beyond
which came distinct sounds of heavy breathing.
The men gathered on the landing, awaiting
orders. And then suddenly there arose from
within the room the sound of a loud, horrible
yawn, and following that, in a thick but cheerful
voice, the chorus : —

Put me among the girrls !
Put me among the girrls !
Do me a favour, do !
I'll do the same for you,
If you'll put

Padgebury bounced into the room, and the
chorus broke off; and his men, crowding behind
him, saw the tiger lying at length on the bed,
fur and teeth and whiskers complete, with a
decanter hugged under one paw.

" Whirroo ! " cried the tiger. " Get out !
'Tis enough to give a man the palpitations to
have yez jumpin' out av nowhere like that, an
ugly crowd ! An' me that unwell an' all ! Get
out wid yez ! "

Padgebury turned one glance of amazement
on his staff, and then, being a prompt man,
seized the tiger by the jaw, forced it open, and
peered into the cavernous skull. u Why, I believe
it's Lanigan ! " he said.

A SKINFUL OF TROUBLE

<c What, Misther Padgebury ! " cried the tiger.
" 'Tis the blessin' av the wurrld to see ye, Misther
Padgebury. Oh, Mr. Padgebury, 'tis moighty
lonely I am ! Nobody loves me in this — this
— this here outrajis integument. They trate me
like a leper ; an' 'tis drouthy work, growlin'
like a tiger two days together, an' moighty
poor conversation, wid no provisions but wan
bag av biscuits. Misther Padgebury, is all av
'em you, or is there a dirthy crowd av ruffins
in this room ? "

" There's enough of us here to see you safely
to the police-station, anyhow," answered Padge-
bury, grimly. u What's this game ? "

" Misther Padgebury, dear, if ye shpake to
me like that I'll cry like a babby, an' me that
broken-hearted too. Take a drop from the
decanther — 'tis good stuff in this house. An'
where's that gallows-hoppin' thief, Filer ? "

" Filer ? I don't know."

" Filer's Circus started for the Continent the
day afore yesterday, so I heard," observed one
of Padgebury's men.

" What ? " wailed the tiger. " The day before
yesterday ? Then I'm robbed to the skin an'
bones av me ! Sivin months have I been doin'
the wrestlin' tiger an' makin' the fortune av the
show, an' not two months' pay have I got out

GREEN GINGER

av it ! An' now he's given me the shake afther
all ! The curse o' the wurrld on the ugly head
av him ! I'll tell ye, Misther Padgebury. The
wrestling tiger was the only thing that brought
the show a pinny, though 'tis meself that says
ut. Night afther night I towld Filer I'd give
the swindle away in the middle av the show if
I didn't get my money, an' night afther night
he blarneyed me into goin' through onct more.
Ye see, we'd thumpin' thick bars to the cage, an'
twasn't likely anybody not b'longing to the show
was comin' investigatin' too close, let alone
goin' wrestlin' with a tiger ; so we faced it
out aisy enough till I threatened, an' thin Filer
blarneyed me. But at last I'd be blarneyed no
more, an' I got a rale paper summons for him ;
an' thin says Filer, frightened by the paper
summons : ' I'm at the bottom av my finances,
Lanigan, me boy, an' what I haven't got I can't
pay. But we'll raise some,' says he, * if ye'll
tear up that nasty summons an' do as I tell ye.
Now, there's a troublesome ould parrty as calls
himself a shareholder,' says he, * an' I'll put ye
in a close-nailed case and sind ye to him. An'
I'll be along there as soon as you will an' sooner,'
says Filer, * bekase I'll go by passenger thrain
an' you by goods. An' whin the ould man's
terrified into fits with havin' a rampin', ragin'

A SKINFUL OF TROUBLE

tiger brought to his peaceful risidence, why I'll
get him to pay a call on his shares on conditions
av takin' you away again. Thin,' says Filer, { I'll
pay every cint av your money and a present to
the top av it ! ' Misther Padgebury, I did ut ;
an' afther that niver again ask me to be a tiger,
nor a package on any goods thrain ! I'm bruised
all over me like a toad, and the lovely feather-bed
itself is hard to me bones."

a Well," remarked Padgebury, " you don't seem
to have done much good for yourself since you
left me, and you're in a bigger scrape now than
ever. There's Mr. Dowdall and a policeman at
the front door."

" Misther Dowdall's a jintleman," said the tiger.
" He's the only man that iver gave me whisky
out av a garden squirrt. Plensheous whisky.
It was the whisky, an' nothing but ut, that gave
me the courage to open the padlock and come
to look for some more. Give my compliments
to Misther Dowdall an' tell him he's a betther
man than his partner, an' I'd rather dale with
him. The firrm owes me thirty-wan pound ten
an' six."

And the tiger pulled its mouth open with its
right paw, and thrust the neck of the decanter
once again between the cruel fangs.

The Absent Three

nPHERE was never a more popular man in
Essex than Dan Fisk, whom I have heard
called the biggest liar in the county. But that
was said in the old days of innocence, when there
were no newly built parts, where liars now flourish
exceedingly among the other improvements.

If Dan were a liar (a thing I expressly decline
to admit), he had the excuse — the justification,
rather — of the artist. Thick and round of body,
with a face whereon a vast grin and a dazzling
squint perpetually struggled for mastery, Dan
was a humorist, first and last. A solemn person
was Dan Fisk's natural prey, and with subtle
art and unchanging feature Dan would urge
his solemnity over the edge of unseemliness into
the abysm of the ridiculous ; and any archer of
the long-bow found in Dan an ever-ready abettor
and puller of the unconscious leg.

Dan is gathered to his fathers long since, and
so long that his tombstone has acquired a rollicking
inclination to the left, and moss and weather

THE ABSENT THREE

have so painted it that the fat cherub's face that
overlooks the inscription meets the gaze with
a permanent wink ; which is the properest
accident in the world, and exactly as Dan Fisk
would have had it.

He was a sober man, yet at this distance of
time I can never call up the memory of his jolly
face without a background from the parlour of
the Castle Inn ; either the enormous geraniums
that stood in the bow-window at the front, or
the settle in the corner, or the wide fireplace and
its blazing embers, stuck with black extinguisher-
shaped beer-warmers. And it was a very good
background, too, being also excellently suitable
to Sam Prentice, Roboshobery Dove, and Abel
Pennyfather, with his big walking-stick made
out of a thistle-stem from Burton's farm ; the
tale whereof Abel Pennyfather told nightly in this
place, beginning with a mighty bang of the stick
itself on the table, and a challenge to everybody
to guess what the timber was.

It was a challenge that nobody accepted, well
known as the stick and its story were. For Abel
Pennyfather instantly began to shout the tale
over again in the voice of a contentious bull,
so that every other sound was drowned till the
tale was told.

" Ha ! ha ! " Abel concluded on one such
27

GREEN GINGER

night ; " f How d'ye like my walkin'-stick ? '
says I. ' Fine bit o' timber, ben't it ? Much
obliged to ye for it,' I says. ' Got it out of a
wheatfield o' yourn, an' left plenty more behind.
Why don't ye grow walkin'-sticks for reg'lar
crop ? ' Lord, that mad he were ! "

And with that Abel Pennyfather took a vast
drink from the fullest mug on the table, which
chanced to be the mug of Banham the carrier.

Banham stared at Pennyfather and the mugs,
and began : " Why, ben't that "

" Better sarve him out next time," observed
Dan Fisk, squinting into Abel Pennyfather's own
mug. " This ain't wuth reachin' for."

cc Why," cried Abel, with wide eyes, " I han't
a-drunk o' the wrong mug, hev I ? Well, well,
now, 'tis wonnerful how absent I be, a-thinkin' ! "

" Wonnerful deep thinkin' it be, too," pursued
Dan Fisk, transferring his squint to the outraged
mug, and tilting it the better to peep. " Won-
nerful deep. " Nothin' could make it deeper
but a bigger mug."

" But 'tis my way, neighbours," Pennyfather
went on loftily. " You might scarce believe as
I walked past my own gate the other day, thinkin'
hard about a sick cow. Ay, an' when I re-
membered, an' turned back, danged if I den't
get a-thinkin' agen, an' walk past the gate a

THE ABSENT THREE

second time, just as far as fust ! DangeJ if I
den't ! "

" If I couldn't shorten my thoughts, I'd widen
the gate," commented Dan. " Ben't proper to
hev ordinary furnitude for such an extraordinary
man."

Sarcasm was not a thing that Abel Pennyfather
understood. " 'Tis like not," he replied, with
plain gratification. "And anyhow, I count I can
claim there ben't so absent a man as me, one
time or another, no, not in arl Essex."

For it was a failing of Abel Pennyfather to
claim pre-eminence, at the top of a very large
voice, in anything whatsoever that might come
under discussion in his presence — anything in
the world, even if it were only bunions.

<f Ah," Dan Fisk replied, with a shake of the
head and an almost imperceptible brightening
of the squint, " you be absent-minded enough,
I make no doubt. I don't call to memory many
with mind more absent from their heads than
you, sarten to say."

" No, not one, I say," Abel pursued, with
growing pride. " Never one in arl Essex."

u Ah, but you can be beat. There's the three
Brewitts."

" I dunno no Brewitts, but I uphold they
ben't a touch to me. Why, I tell 'ee, t'other

GREEN GINGER

day, an' none so long ago neither, I sat an'
made up my market cipherin' with my lighted
pipe, a-smokin' my pencil all the time. Ah, I
did that ! "

" 'Twere a true notable feat, that, no doubt,
but it were only once. Now, oad Tom Brewitt,
he never lit a candle but what he hulled it
out o' winder and set up the match to read
by."

"Allusdidit?"

" Ay, allus. Oad Sim Cloyse paid a boy two
shillun a week to sit outside of evenings an'
pick up candles. Rare eye to business had oad
Sim Cloyse."

<c That there's a yarn. Not that it's anythin'
particular. I've a-done many a more highly
absent-minded thing myself, so I don't count
it much. But I never heard o' that Tom Brewitt.
Who were he ? "

" Tom Brewitt ? Why, he were Bob Brewitt's
brother, sure/jy."

" Well, an' who were Bob ? I s'pose you'll
say he were Tom's brother ? "

l< No," Dan replied ; " that wouldn't be a
straightforard answer. Bob were brother to Sam,
an' Sam were brother to both on 'em. You
may disbelieve in Tom by hisself, an' 'tis arl a
possibility you might cast doubts on Bob ; but

THE ABSENT THREE

you can't get away with Tom, Bob, and Sam
together ; 'taren't logic."

u 'Tis a true word, an' a very reasonable
argyment," observed Banham the carrier, with
a judicial shake of the head. And the company
murmured agreement.

Abel Pennyfather stared blankly for five
seconds. Then he said : " Well, well, I'm not
sayin' 'taren't. I only said I never heared tell
on 'em. An' I don't think so overmuch of Tom
Brewitt's absent-minded doin's, nayther."

" There again," Dan went on, " you mightn't
think much of Tom's absent-mindedness, an'
maybe you might doubt the quality of Bob's ;
but when you come to Sam's, an' more especial
when you come to Tom's an' Bob's an' Sam's
all together, then there aren't no more argufyin'.
They be too many for any argufy er."

" Well, that may be," persisted Abel Penny-
father, " but I hoad a shillun, man for man,
they den't beat me. Now I tell 'ee, when we
putt the four-acre field down to grass, I were
a-goin "

" Did your absence o' mind ever keep your
sister an oad maid all her life ? " demanded Dan.

" Why, no," Abel admitted, " seein' as you
know she's been married three times a'ready.
But "

GREEN GINGER

" Then you're beat," interrupted Dan. "You're
beat all to crumbles, as anybody can tell you as
knows the story o' the three Brewitts an' their
sister Jane. An' who don't know that ? "

It seemed that nobody knew it, a dis-
covery whereat Dan expressed profound surprise.
" Why," he said, " the three Brewitts kep' farm
up there beyond Thundersley — I'll call the very
name to mind, presently, maybe — long enough
ago. There was Tom, Bob, an' Sam, like as
I've told you. They was bachelors all, by reason
of absence of mind. Tom forgot to go to church
on his weddin'-day, and was clawed down the
face an' forsook for that reason. Bob was all
arranged for, by the other party an' her relations,
but when they got him there he forgot to ask
her the question, so the fam'lies was enemies
thenceforth, an' his absence of mind saved him.
Sam forgot about marryin' altogether, an' died
at eighty-fower without having remembered it.
Their sister Jane, she were a single woman at
forty for a different reason. What prevented
her weren't so much the absence of her mind
as the presence of her face. 'Twere a face o'
vinegar, an' no mistake."

" Was it as ugly as yours, Dan ? " Prentice
asked, with much show of interest.

" Wuss than that, a mile," Dan resumed, un-
32

THE ABSENT THREE

perturbed. " 'Twere as bad as any man's face
in this here room, though you'd scarce believe
it. 'Twould ha' kep' a regiment out o' gunshot ;
and there's no guessing how her brothers lived
in the same house with it, 'cept they were too
absent-minded to notice. Little boys used to
go the other way round to school for fear o'
seeing Jane Brewitt, and 'twere said nothing
could be made o' the milk on that farm 'cept
cheese."

" Talkin' o' cheese," interposed Abel Penny-
father, " I've made as much as "

" We won't talk o' cheese, then ! " shouted
Dan, and the company supported him with
clamour sufficient to quell Abel. " We won't
talk o' cheese, but come back to Jane Brewitt.
She were a good enough housekeeper, spite of
her face, an' a good housekeeper were needful
in a place with three sich moonin' gapesters about.
She were a good housekeeper, and, what with
one thing an t'other, business were good an' good
again at Brewitts' ; an' Bob Brewitt, he had a
safe let into his bedroom wall, and a good full
cashbox was snug inside the safe. Why that
should be few could understand, with three chaps
as were like as not to go an' plough a meadow
'stead o' mowin' it, or sow a young wheatfield
twice over with carrots. But so 'twas how-

33 D

GREEN GINGER

somedever, an' 'tis like Jane had her share in
keepin' things square.

" But ugly as she were, and forty as she were,
Jane were still the youngest o' the family, an'
den't forget to publish the fact abroad nayther,
without goin' into the 'zact arithmetic o' the
years. An' she wore a bonnet that made the
church look like a penny show. An' so at last
what nobody expected came to pass, an' a man
went a-courting to Brewitts' ; an' not a blind
man, nayther.

" He were so far from blind that folk swore
he could see, quite distinct, through Brewitts'
brick wall and iron safe into the cashbox, afore
he made up his mind to go a-courtin* to Jane.
'Tis sarten he were more than half her age, but
none so much more, if you den't count the time
he'd been in gaol. Bates were his name, an'
the poor friendless chap hadn't a soul in arl
Essex to say a good word for him, consekence
of his havin' lived in the county arl his life.
'Twasn't that he ever took another man's job
away from him, either, for if there was one thing
in the world he'd never take it was work.

" The three brothers weren't so absent-minded
as to overlook a thing like this, an' they pitched
Jim Bates out o' doors reg'lar, whenever the sight
of him reminded 'em. But Jane, she stood up

THE ABSENT THREE

for him through thick an' thin, as was natural.
The more the folk were down on Bates the better
she thought him, an' as for him, the more he
saw of the Brewitts' house, and the more he
heard of the cashbox, the deeper in love he got.
But Tom and Bob, an' Sam, they got so mighty
objectionable that Jim Bates had to take to
meetin' Jane by dark in the lane, which had two
advantages : first, the brothers couldn't see him ;
an' second, he couldn't see Jane.

" Things got desprit. The brothers swore that
if she were sich a fool as to go to church with
Jim Bates, she should take what belonged to her
an' no more ; which, put in round numbers, was
nothin'. But she was quite game for this, an'
she told Jim Bates as much, an' openly admitted
she was full aged an' could do as she liked. But
Jim Bates was that thoughtful he wouldn't part
she an' the cashbox, an' at last he persuaded her
that all three should make a bolt together in the
dogcart. 'Tis like she might have doubted about
bringing the cashbox ; but Jim Bates he told her
it was good as hers, seein' she'd kep' house for
her brothers so long, an', rather than she should
be done out of her rights, he'd take care of it
himself.

" So they settled to make a bolt of it one night
after market-day. Jim Bates chose that night for

GREEN GINGER

reasons. 'Twas only to be supposed that both
cashbox and brothers would be fullest after
market-day ; an' if absent-mindedness be to be
took advantage of, when was an Essex farmer
likely to hev more of it than on market-night ?
So 'twere settled to do so. Jim Bates were to
come into the yard at midnight an' tip the whistle.
Jane were to be all ready, an' pitch out o' winder
the key o' the stable-door, which she'd hev to
get from Tom Brewitt's room. This was another
thing easier done on market-night. Then, while
Jim Bates set about harnessin' the mare to the
dogcart, Jane was to go into Bob's room, get his
keys, unlock the safe, and bring out the cashbox.
That was another thing only safely to be done
on market-night, an', market-night an' all, poor
Jane Brewitt felt mighty trembly about doin' it.
After that she were to gather up all three pairs
o' topboots, where the brothers had a-left 'em
outside the bedroom doors — for she kep' her
brothers up to gentry ways, did Jane — an' pitch
'em away somewheres, to keep Tom, Bob, an' Sam
indoors for a bit, in case they got roused, an'
give the loviers true a good clear start. That
was Jane's department, an' so much done, she
were to mount the dogcart with her lovin' Jim
and the cashbox, an' live happy ever arter.

" But there ain't no dependin' on plans with

THE ABSENT THREE

absent-minded men about. Poor Jane Brewett
got frighteneder an' frightender every minute
arter her brothers had gone to bed, an' she hadn't
the pluck to go into Tom's room for the stable-
key before she heard Jim Bates in the yard.
'Twere a fine moonlight night, an' she peeped
an' saw him.

" { Be that you, Jim ? ' says she, whisperin' out
o' winder.

" c Ay,' says he, whisperin' back. c 'Tis arl
right. I don't want the stable-key.'

" He said he den't want the stable-key,' Dan
said, turning to the company ; a an' I'd bet a
piece you won't guess why. Tom Brewitt, so
fresh from market as he were, had wound his
watch an' hung it on the stable-door, an' took
the padlock up to bed with him ; an' now that
watch were tickin' away safe in Jim Bates's
pocket ! D'ye cap that, Abel Pennyfather ? "

Abel said not a word, and Dan went on.

" Well, that looked like good luck, and a
watch in extry, for poor Jane, but it weren't ;
you can't make no counts with absent-minders.
But there were more to come. Jim Bates looked
up again, and he said: *Hev ye been to the safe?'

" f No,' says poor Jane. * I aren't been ; an'
I'm ready to faint with fear at the thought. I
count it be robbery ! '

GREEN GINGER

" « Stay a bit,' says Jim Bates to her. * What's
that black thing I see in the rosebush under Bob's
winder ? '

" Well, neighbours," Dan went on, turning
again to the company at large, " if Abel Penny-
father told you what I'm goin' to tell you, you
mightn't believe it ; but, seein' I say it myself,
there's no question. Bob Brewitt had finished
his market-day so chock full of absent-mindedness
that he'd opened the casement instead o' the safe-
door, an' shoved the cashbox out o' winder !
Can ye cap that ?

" Well, now, that looked as if the course o'
true love were runnin' smoother than ever, den't
it? But I tell 'ee again, ye can't make no count
with absent-minders. The absence o' mind proper
to market-night had helped the loviers true as
regards two brothers, but it ruined an' ship-
wrecked the whole venture in the case o' the
third. There was nothin' to do now for Jane,
but to gather up the boots, an' pelt off for a
weddin' licence ; but that she never did, for
something occurred.

(f Jim Bates, when he found hisself out in the
yard with the cashbox an' Tom Brewett's watch,
began to think things over very sudden. He
changed his mind about separatin' Jane an' the
cashbox, an' he started off to part 'em just as

THE ABSENT THREE

far as possible in the longest jumps he could
make. An' poor Jane, she couldn't go after him
because of what occurred in the meantime ; an' so
she lost the only man that ever came a-courtin' to
her, an' died an old maid at last."

" What was it as occurred in the meantime ? "
asked somebody.

" It's all very well for you to laugh, neigh-
bours," proceeded Dan, ignoring the interruption ;
" but I count 'tis a bitter thing for a poor gal to
live her life through, young at first an' old at
last, an' die, an' never get the kindness a woman
looks for, and that she sees the others getting.
You laugh at poor Jane Brewitt with her ugly
face, but she's the same under her skin as the
handsomest gal in Essex. An' that's the same
with all of us. Abel Pennyfather 'ud look quite
decent if you skinned him. Well, well ! "

" But you ha'n't told us what occurred that
stopped her," protested Prentice.

ct Den't I ? Well there now ! It caused a
rare fanteeg, though, the hullabaloo after Jim
Bates. When they all woke up, Tom Brewitt
wasted ten minutes tryin' to tell the time o' night
by the padlock ; an' Bob, not quite awake and
still mixin' up the safe-door an' the casement in
his mind, shoved his head into the safe an' bawled,
1 Stop thief! ' till he nigh deaf-an'-dumbed hisself.

GREEN GINGER

But they caught Jim Bates in the mornin', though,
an' he went to Springfield gaol once more.
Here's better luck to us. 'Tis a dry oad tale."

Dan reached for Abel Penny-father's new-filled
mug, and Abel, loudly protesting, recovered it
empty.

" Your mug ? Well there," said Dan, with
his hand on the door-knob as he rose. " There
be nothing so catchin' in the world as that there
absence o' mind. It'll be Banham's turn next."

"But what was't occurred to stop Jane Brewitt? "
cried everybody, except Pennyfather.

" Oh, that ? " Dan answered, turning the door-
knob and pulling the door conveniently ajar.
" Well, you see, she picked up two pairs o' top-
boots all right, but when she got to Sam's door —
you see he'd come home from market as full of
absence o' mind as any man could carry, an' you
know they brew it strong at Rochford. So,
natural enough, he tucked up his boots in bed
an' went asleep outside hisself. So that when his
sister came along in the dark with two pair o'
boots an' fell over him, he jumps up an' "

But the empty mug hit the door as it closed,
and it cost Abel Pennyfather eighteenpence.

The Stolen Blenkinsop

I F it had been necessary for Mr. Hector Bushell
1 to make a fortune for himself there can be
little doubt that he would have done it. Fortun-
ately or unfortunately — just as you please — the
necessity did not exist, for his father had done
it for him before he was born. Consequently,
Hector, who was a genial if somewhat boisterous
young man, devoted his talents to the service of
his friends, whose happiness he insisted on pro-
moting, with their concurrence or without it, by
the exercise of his knowledge of the world and
whatever was in it, his business-like acumen, his
exuberant animal spirits, and his overflowing,
almost pestilential, energy. Quiet-mannered ac-
quaintances who spied him afar dodged round
corners and ran, rather than have their fortunes
made by his vigorously-expressed advice, enforced
by heavy slaps on the shoulder and sudden digs
in the ribs, and sometimes punctuated with a

GREEN GINGER

hearty punch in the chest. For he was a large
and strong, as well as a noisy, young man,
accurately, if vulgarly, described by his acquaint-
ances as perpetually " full of beans."

He had given himself a reputation as an art
critic, on the strength of a year or two's attendance
at an art school in Paris ; and, indeed, he main-
tained a studio of his own, expensively furnished,
where he received his friends and had more than
once begun a picture. But his energies in this
matter were mainly directed to the good of
painters among his acquaintances, who were under
the necessity of living by their work. He told
them how their pictures should be painted, and
how they could certainly be sold. Indeed, in
this latter respect he did better than advise the
painter — he advised the buyer, when he could
seize one, and trundled him captive in the studio
of his nearest friend with great fidelity and
enthusiasm.

" The chance of your life, my dear sir ! " he
would say, snatching at the lapel of some wealthy
friend's coat, and raising the other hand with an
imminent threat of a slap on the shoulder. " The
chance of your life ! The coming man, I assure
you ! Something like an investment. A picture
they'll offer you thousands for some day, and I
do believe I can get it for you for a couple of

THE STOLEN BLENKINSOP

hundred ! Come and see it before some dealer
gets in ! "

It was with some such speech as this that he
interrupted Mr. Higby Fewston, the margarine
magnate, full of the report of the robbery a day
before of a Gainsborough portrait from a house
in Charles Street, Berkeley Square. Mr. Fewston
was not the sort of man to take a deal of interest
in pictures for their own sake, but the newspapers
estimated the money value of the missing picture
at twenty thousand pounds, and he found that
very touching. He had the same respect for
that Gainsborough, which he had never seen, that
he would have had for a cheque for the sum
signed by the firm of Rothschild ; rather more,
in fact, for if the cheque were stolen it might be
stopped, and so rendered valueless ; but there
was no stopping the Gainsborough till you had
caught the thief. So that Mr. Fewston found
himself taking an unwonted interest in art ; and
when Hector Bushell, seizing the opportunity and
pulling at his arm, drew him in the direction of
Sydney Blenkinsop's studio, he offered less resist-
ance than otherwise he might have done.

" Man named Blenkinsop," declaimed the zeal-
ous Hector. " Capital chap, and paints like — like
a double archangel. His studio's close by — come
and look for yourself. Of course, nothing need

GREEN GINGER

be said about buying the picture, if you don't
want to. But just come and see it — I'll pretend
we were passing and just dropped in. You'll
have the sort of chance that people had in
Gainsborough's own time. Why, 1 don't sup-
pose he got more than a couple of hundred or
so for the very picture the papers are so full
of to-day ! "

Mr. Fewston suffered himself to be dragged
through many streets — the studio was not so near
as Hector's enthusiasm made it seem — and finally
into the presence of Mr. Sydney Blenkinsop, the
painter. Blenkinsop was, by the side of Bushell,
a comparatively quiet young man, not without
apprehension of the possible consequences of his
friend's devotion ; for one never could tell what
wild things Bushell might have been saying about
one.

" Ah, Sydney, old boy ! " cried that enthusiast.
" How have you been all this time ? " They
had last met the day before, when Hector had
hauled in some other possible patron. " How
have you been ? Just looked in as we were
passing, you know — just looked in ! This is my
friend, Mr. Higby Fewston, much interested in
art, and what he don't know about a picture —
well, there ! Working on anything just now,
eh ? I say " — this with a start of apprehension —

THE STOLEN BLENKINSOP

c< you haven't sold that picture yet, have you ?
The stunner, you know, the Keston ? "

" Oh, that ? " responded Blenkinsop, who had
never sold a picture in his life. " No, I haven't.
Not that one."

" Ah, plain enough Agnew hasn't been here
lately. I'd like to have another look at it, old
chap ; probably sha'n't have another chance, unless
it goes somewhere where I know the people.
Ah, there now ; look at that now ! "

Mr. Fewston looked at it blankly. <c It — it's
a landscape" he said, presently, after consideration.
The stolen Gainsborough had been a portrait, and
Mr. Fewston liked things up to sample.

cc Rather ! " replied Hector. " It is a land-
scape, as you say, and no mistake ! Something
like a landscape that, eh ? I knew you'd like it,
of course, having an eye for such a thing. Ah,
it's a topper ! "

He fell back by the side of the man of
margarine, and the two inspected the marvel in
silence, the one with head aside and a smile of
ecstasy, and the other with all the expression of
a cow puzzled by a painted field with nothing to
eat on it. Sydney Blenkinsop shuffled uneasily.

Presently Mr. Fewston thought of something
to say. " Where was it taken ? " he asked.

" Keston Common," murmured Sydney faintly

GREEN GINGER

and " Keston Common " repeated Hector loudly,
making the title sound like a fresh merit. He
also drew attention to the wonderful effects of
light in the picture, the extraordinary painting of
the sky, the subtle suggestion of atmosphere, and
the marvellous " values." Mr. Fewston listened
patiently to the end. There was another pause
longer and more awkward than the last ; it seemed
likely to endure till something burst in Sydney
Blenkinsop. Then, at last, Mr. Higby Fewston
spoke, weightily.

" Keston," he said, with solemn conviction, " is
a place I don't like. There's a bad train service."

Such a criticism as this even Hector Bushell
could not readily answer. He attempted to evade
the point, and returned again to his " values."
But any reference to values unsupported by
definite figures made little impression on the
commercial mind of Mr. Fewston, and in a very
few minutes more he drifted out, with Hector
Bushell still in close attendance.

Hector, however, remained with the margarine
Maecenas only long enough to discharge another
volley of admiration for the picture, and took
his leave at the first convenient corner. As a
consequence he was back in five minutes, to
discover Sydney Blenkinsop vengefully kicking
a lay figure.

THE STOLEN BLENKINSOP

" Don't bring another chap like that to this
place," cried the painter savagely, "or I'll pitch
him out o' window ! "

" My dear chap, don't be an ass ! You've
got no business instincts. A man like that's
invaluable, if you can only kid him on. He'll
buy any old thing, if he buys at all."

"If!"

" You're an ungrateful infidel. I tell you I'm
going to sell that ' Keston Common ' for you.
What could you do with it by yourself? "

" Put a stick through it — burn it — anything !
I'm sick of the whole business."

" Just what 1 expected. You could put a
stick through it or burn it — and what's the good
of that ? "

" What's the harm ? I can't sell it, and they
won't hang it at the shows ; I know that before
I send it."

" You know everything that's no use to you,
and nothing that pays. You can burn a picture,
but you can't sell it. Now, I'm going to sell
that picture for you, if you'll let me. Will
you ? "

" You can do what you like with it."

" Done with you, my boy ! I'll make you
famous with it, and I'll get you money for it.
I've an idea such as you couldn't invent in

GREEN GINGER

a lifetime. Shut up the shop now and we'll
talk it over at the Cafe Royal. Come along.
We'll have a little dinner out of the money
I'm going to make for you. But you've to
take orders from me, mind ! "

THE evening papers flamed with the tale of the
lost Gainsborough, as the morning papers had
done before them, and the morning papers of
the next day kept up the flame with scarcely
diminished violence. Sydney Blenkinsop rose
with nothing but a headache to distinguish him
from the other unknown people about him, but
by lunch-time he was as famous as Gainsborough
himself. For another picture had been stolen.
The evening papers came out stronger than ever,
giants refreshed by a new sensation, with the
blinding headline, ANOTHER PICTURE ROBBERY !
Sub-headings sang of A DANGEROUS GANG AT
WORK, and deplored A YOUNG PAINTER'S MISSING
MASTERPIECE. Sydney Blenkinsop was the young
painter, and the view of Keston Common was
the missing masterpiece. In the eyes of thousands
of worthy people Mr. Sydney Blenkinsop became
an artist second only in importance to Gains-
borough, if second to anybody ; and Mr. Sydney
Blenkinsop, himself appalled by the overwhelming

THE STOLEN BLENK1NSOP

success of Mr. Hector Bushell's scheme, would
have fled the country, but for the superior will-
power of that same Hector Bushell, who never
left his side.

For journalists haunted the studio and " wrote
up " the whole business afresh for every edition
of all the daily newspapers in England. Sydney
would have bolted the door and fled from the
rear, but Hector ordered in caviare sandwiches
and oyster patties and a case of champagne, and
was the life and soul of the party. When Sydney
seemed at a loss for a judicious answer — which
occurred pretty often — Hector was instantly equal
to the occasion. The main story was simple
enough, and was cunningly left to rest entirely
on the word of the police. The constable on
the beat had perceived, in the grey of the morning,
that a window of the studio had been opened,
and a pane broken in the process. Nobody
seemed to be in the place, so the policeman kept
watch by the window till assistance arrived, when
it was found that obviously a thief had entered
the studio, and had got safely away. It was not
found possible to communicate with Mr. Blen-
kinsop till the morning was well advanced and
somebody was found who knew the address of
his lodgings ; and then he was met as he was
leaving home for the studio, in company with

49 2

GREEN GINGER

his friend, Mr. Bushell. Things in the studio
had been much disarranged, and the picture, a
view of Keston Common, had been cut from its
frame and taken.

So much for the simple facts as observed by
the police ; but the frills, embroideries, tassels,
tinsels, and other garnishings, which lent variety
and interest to the narrative came in an inexhaustible
and glorious torrent from Hector Bushell. He
took each separate journalist aside and gave him
the special privilege of some wholly new and
exclusive information as to the surprising genius
of Sydney Blenkinsop, and the amazing prices
his pictures were worth and would certainly fetch,
some day. Doubtless the thief was a knowing
file, and was laying up for the future — a saving
his stake," as it were. Any possible slump in
Gainsboroughs — of course, nobody expected it,
but such a thing might happen — would be
compensated by the certain rise in Blenkinsops.
And with this astute suggestion Hector shut one
eye, tapped the side of his nose, and surprised
the favoured reporter with one of his celebrated
digs in the ribs.

The newspapers on their part neglected nothing.
Gainsborough and Blenkinsop had a column
apiece, side by side, in most of them, and in
the rest they had more, or were fraternally

5°

THE STOLEN BLENKINSOP

mingled together. " Is no masterpiece safe ? "
asked the Press. And, answering its own question
with no more than a paragraph's delay, the Press
gave its opinion that no masterpiece was. To
have put in question the new-born eminence of
Blenkinsop would have been to spoil the boom in the
most unbusinesslike way. Of course, a Turner,
or a Raeburn, or another Gainsborough would
have been preferable, but as it was the Press
had to do its best with the materials to hand,
and so it did, to the glory of Blenkinsop. The
notion of a thief or a gang of thieves going about
after valuable pictures was too good to waste,
and every newspaper expressed the sage conjecture
that, where one picture was, there would the
other be found. One scribbling cynic managed
to squeeze in a hint that this might suggest
the valuable clue of lunacy in the culprit ;
though nobody noticed that in the general flood
of Blenkinsoppery.

But in the intervals of interviewing, when the
friends had a few minutes of private conversation,
there was a notable lack of gratitude in Sydney's
acknowledgments.

" This is a fine ghastly mess you've landed
me in ! " he protested, at the first opportunity.
" How do you expect me to look all these
people in the face ? "

GREEN GINGER

" How ? Oh, the usual way — only the usual
way, you know ! The more usual the better.
I don't find any difficulty ! "

" You ? No — you're enjoying it ; you've the
cheek for anything. I'm the sufferer. I've had
to stand here and yarn to a police-inspector about
the beastly business ! "

" Yarn ! The simple, plain, clear truth ! You
dined with me last night at the Cafe Royal,
leaving the studio just as usual. And in the
morning you came here also as usual, and
found the police in charge. Straightforward
enough. Of course, he didn't ask you any-
thing about me. It seems to me you've got
the soft job. I'm doing all the work, and as
to enjoying it, of course I am ! Why aren't
you ? "

" Enjoying it ! Good heavens, man, I never
expected such a row as this ; I was a fool to
listen to you."

" Now, there ! " Hector Bushell spread his
arms in injured protest. " There's ingratitude !
I've positively made you the most celebrated
painter alive, all in the course of a few hours,
and you — you pretend you don't like it ! Oh,
come off it ! Why, there are thousands of
respectable people in this country to-day, who
couldn't name six painters who ever lived, that

THE STOLEN BLENKINSOP

know all about you — and Gainsborough. I
fetched the Press round — did it all ! "

" And how's it all going to end ? And where
is the picture ? Why won't you tell me that ? "

" Well, I was afraid somebody might catch on
to a sort of idea that you knew where it was,
and I wanted you to be able to say you didn't,
that's all. Nobody has had any such unworthy
suspicions, and so there's no harm in inviting
you to admire the dodge. When I got home
last night, with the canvas rolled up under my
arm, I just took it to bed with me till the
morning. When I woke I thought it over, and
I remembered a big roll of old stair-carpet up
in a garret where nobody went — a useless old
roll that my dear old mother has dragged about
with us for years — ever since we lived in Russell
Square, in fact. It's never been touched since
it came, and never will be. So I nipped out
and up into the garret with the picture, unrolled
a few yards of the carpet, slipped the canvas in
very carefully, painted side out, rolled up the
carpet again, tied it, and shoved it back among
the other old lumber. And there it can stay,
safe as the Bank, till we want it again ! "

" Till we want it again ! And when will
that be ? "

"When we've sold it. You leave it to me,

GREEN GINGER

my bonny boy. Remember that other Gains-
borough that was stolen — the * Duchess.' Would
that have fetched such a price if it hadn't been
stolen and boomed up ? Not on your life. I'm
out to sell that picture for you, and I'm going
to do it — to say nothing of immortal glory, which
I'm positively shovelling on you where you
stand. Hark ! There's another reporter. Keep
up that savage, worried look — it's just the thing
for the plundered genius ! "

But this visitor was no reporter. It was,
indeed, Mr. Higby Fewston, much more alert
and affable than yesterday, and eager for news
of the picture.

" Is there any chance of getting it ? " he asked,
with some eagerness. u Have the police got on
the track of the thief yet ?"

" No, they haven't yet," replied Hector Bushell,
calmly. " But I should think there was a very
good chance of getting the picture, ultimately."

" I suppose you'll offer a reward ? "

" Well, we'll have to think it over. It's a bit
early as yet."

" Tell me now," Mr. Fewston pursued, with
increasing animation, " can the picture be properly
repaired ? Isn't it cut out of the frame ? "

** Yes, but that's nothing. It's easily relined
and put back."

" That's satisfactory. And now as to the
flowers — I think I remember yellow flowers right
in the front of the picture. They are cowslips,
I hope ? "

" Oh, yes — cowslips, of course," replied Hector,
with easy confidence, since cowslips seemed to be
required. While Sydney Blenkinsop, who had
spotted in a few touches of yellow in the fore-
ground because it seemed to be wanted, and with
a vague idea of possible furze- blossoms, or
buttercups, gasped and wondered.

" And I suppose more cowslips could be put
in, if required, by a competent man ? "

" I don't think any more are required," put
in Sydney Blenkinsop, decidedly.

" No — very likely not — just an inquiry. I
did think at the time there seemed to be rather
a lot of cowslips for Keston Common, but I
do a good deal in the ' Cowslip ' brand of — the
— the article I deal in, and there might be a
possibility of reproducing the work as an ad-
vertisement. One has to consider all these
things, of course ; and on the whole I'd like
to buy that picture, if you get it back. What
about price ? "

*' Five hundred," said Hector, promptly, before
Sydney could open his mouth.

" Um, rather high, isn't it ? " commented

GREEN GINGER

Fewston equably. "I was thinking of, say,
three hundred."

" Well, yes," Hector responded, just as affably.
" Yesterday that might have done, but just now
it's to-day." And he regarded the margarine
magnate with a long, deliberate, placid wink.

" Ah well, I understand, of course," replied
Fewston, who appeared to far better advantage
to-day, discussing business, than yesterday, mis-
understanding art. "Of course, I quite recognise
that all this publicity — naturally Mr. Blenkinsop
wants all the benefit possible from it — quite
legitimate, of course. But there, the picture isn't
recovered yet. Meantime, I may consider 1 have
the refusal of it contingently, 1 suppose ^ You
see, Mr. Bushell — you are evidently a man of
business — this may be useful to me. A great
deal of space is being devoted to Mr. Blenkinsop
and his picture in the papers, and I — well, it
would be worth my while to be in it, as con-
spicuously as possible. Do you perceive ? "

" I think I see. To-morrow morning's papers,
for instance : * We are at liberty to state that
Mr. Sydney Blenkinsop's now famous picture
was destined for the galleries of one of the best
known of our merchant princes ; in fact, that
in the event of its hoped-for recovery it is to
be purchased by Mr. Higby Fewston, and will

THE STOLEN BLENKINSOP

make a conspicuous feature of that gentleman's
collection.' I think that can go in — no doubt
even a little more."

" Excellent ! Will you do that ? And it is
understood that if you get the picture — you
say there's a very good chance — Z have first
refusal."

u At five hundred pounds."

" Three hundred, I think."

" Wouldn't do, really, as things go. Con-
sider what the Gainsborough would cost you
if you could get that, now that it has been
stolen ! "

"Well, well, we'll leave it at four hundred,
unless you get a higher offer ; it's rather absurd
discussing this, with the picture lost. But I do
want to be sure that I get proper publicity in
the papers. You'll see to that, won't you ?
You see, this is just the time I want it. I am
putting up for the County Council, and — this
strictly between ourselves — there is just the
possibility that I may be turning my business
into a limited company. So all these things help,
and I and my family are keeping ourselves for-
ward as much as possible just now. Mrs.
Fewston, for instance, is making an appeal for
the Stockjobbers' Almshouses, and running a
sale. And this picture — well, if it's recovered

GREEN GINGER

we shan't quarrel about the price so long as you
get me well into the papers in the meantime.
You see, I'm perfectly frank — we'll do our best
for each other, mutually."

And so it was settled between Mr. Fewston
and the untiring Bushell, while Sydney Blenkinsop
hovered uneasily in the background, a super-
fluous third party in the disposal of his own
picture ; which also seemed to be superfluous,
so far as its merits were concerned — or even its
present possession.

Ill

MR. HIGBY FEWSTON was well satisfied with
the next morning's newspapers. Hector Bushell
saw to it that every office was supplied with
information of the merits and doings of that
patron of fine art, and during the day the
evening papers interviewed Mr. Fewston himself,
to the combined glory of Fewston and Blenkinsop.
Mr. Fewston expressed strong opinions as to
the inefficiency of the police, and made occasion
to allude to his views on the London County
Council. Speaking as an art critic Mr. Fewston
considered Mr. Blenkinsop certainly the greatest
painter of the present time ; and the stolen
masterpiece was a great loss to him, personally,
the intending purchaser. There could be no

THE STOLEN BLENK1NSOP

doubt, in Mr. Fewston's mind, that the same
clever gang had captured the two great pictures
— evidently educated criminals of great artistic
judgment. And then came certain notable and
mysterious hints as to astonishing things that
Mr. Fewston might say as to the whereabouts
of the plunder if it were judicious — which at
this moment, of course, it was not.

The " boom " went so well that Sydney Blen-
kinsop himself began to look upon his sudden
notoriety with a more complacent eye. In another
day or two the affair had run best part of the
ordinary course of a newspaper sensation, the
Bishop of London had given his opinion on it,
and while the Gainsborough column shrank con-
siderably, the Blenkinsop column became a mere
paragraph at its foot. It would seem to be the
proper moment for the recovery of the picture.

And now it grew apparent that this was the
great difficulty. What had been done was easy
enough ; it had almost done itself — with the
constant help of Hector. But to restore the
picture — naturally, unsuspiciously, and without
putting anybody in gaol — this was a job that
grew more difficult the more it was considered.
Hector Bushell grew unwontedly thoughtful, and
Sydney Blenkinsop began to get ungrateful again.
He had been dragged up a blind alley, he said,

GREEN GINGER

and now he wanted to know the way out.
Hector smoked a great many strong cigars with-
out being able to tell him.

They parted moodily one night toward the
end of the week, and the next day Sydney was
alone in his studio all the morning. He was
growing fidgety and irritable, notwithstanding his
new-found eminence, and he wondered what kept
Hector away. Was he going to shirk now that
the real pinch was coming ? Work was im-
possible, so the partaker in Gainsborough's glory
loafed and smoked and kicked his furniture, and
smoked and loafed again. His lunch was brought
him from the corner public-house, and he ate
what he could of it. Then he took to looking
out of door, as is the useless impulse of every-
body anxiously awaiting a visitor. He had done
it twice, and was nearing the lobby again when
the cry of a running newsboy struck his ear.
He pulled the door open hurriedly, for in the
shout he seemed to hear something like the name
Gainsborough. There came the boy, shouting at
each studio door as he passed, and waving his
papers. Sydney extended his coin and snatched
the paper as the boy ran past. It was fact ; he
had heard the name of Gainsborough, for the
thousandth time that week. The picture had
been discovered in the thief's lodgings, but the

THE STOLEN BLENKINSOP

thief had bolted and was still at large. There
was not much of it under the staring headline,
but so much was quite clear. The picture was
found, but the thief had got away.

Wasn't there a chance in this ? Surely there
ought to be. Why didn't Hector Bushell come ?
Surely, if they were prompt enough, some little
dodge might be built on this combination of
circumstances, by which his picture might be
brought to light again — this also without the
thief. They knew, now, where the thief had
been, and that he was gone. This was good
news. Hector could certainly make something
of that. Where was he ?

He was at the door, in the lobby, in the
studio, even as the thought passed. Flushed
and rumpled, wild of eye, with dust on his
coat and a dint in his hat, Hector Bushell
dropped into the nearest seat with an inarticulate
« G'lor ! "

"What's up?" cried Sydney. "The Gains-
borough— do you know ? They've got it ! "

" Blow the Gainsborough — where's the Blen-
kinsop ? Sydney, it's a bust up ! "

"What is?"

" The whole festive caboodle ! The entire bag
of tricks ! My mother's been and sent the roll
of stair-carpet to the jumble sale ! "

GREEN GINGER

"The what?"

" Jumble sale — Mrs. Fewston's jumble sale ;
Stockjobbers' Almshouse Fund ! "

" Great heavens ! " — Sydney leapt for his hat
— " where is it ? When is it ! What "

" No go ! " interrupted Hector, with a feeble
wave of the hand. " No go ! It's to-day — I've
been there. Blazed off there the moment I knew
it. They'd sold the carpet to an old woman
just before I arrived. Nice girl I know, helping
at Mrs. Fewston's stall, told me that. Just then
up came Mrs. Fewston herself, glaring straight
over my head as though I was too small and
too beastly to look at. A dead cut, if ever I
saw one ! I felt a bit uneasy at that. But the
nice girl told me the name of the old woman
who had the carpet, and where she lived. So 1
streaked out after her and caught her two streets
off; she was shoving her plunder home in a
perambulator. I grabbed it with both hands and
offered to buy it. I was a bit wild and sudden,
I expect, and the old girl didn't understand ;
started screaming, and laid into me with an
umbrella. I wasn't going to wait for a crowd,
so I out with the stair-carpet and bowled it open
all along the pavement. There was no picture
in it — nothing ! I kicked it the whole length
out, all along the street, and then pelted round

THE STOLEN BLENKINSOP

the next corner while the old party was tangled
up with the other end. Sydney, my boy, Few-
ston's got that picture now ! The carpet was
sent to the house ! "

" What in the world shall we do ? We're
in a fine sort of mess ! "

For a time Hector Bushell had no answer :
he was considering many things. Mrs. Fewston's
disdainful cut ; the fact that the carpet — and the
picture — had been in Fewston's house since the
evening of the day before yesterday. Also he
wondered why Fewston had made no sign. He
had had a full day and a half to flare up in,
if he had felt that way inclined ; but there had
been no flare. Why ? Hector's faculties gradu-
ally ranged themselves, and he began to under-
stand. Could Fewston afford to stultify himself
after the advertisement he had so eagerly snatched ?
And there were the interviews in the newspapers !
And the County Council election ! And the
limited company ! It grew plain that Mr.
Fewston's interests were not wholly divorced
from their own, after all.

"What shall we do?" reiterated Sydney,
wildly. " We're in a most hideous mess ! "

" Mess ? " repeated Hector, straightening his
hat and gradually assuming his customary placidity.
" Mess ? Oh, I don't know, after all. I was a

REEN GINGER

bit startled at first, but we haven't accused any-
body, you know. IVere perfectly innocent. If
you like to authorize me to get in at your studio
window to fetch a picture, why shouldn't you ?
And if the police like to jump to conclusions —
well, they ought to know better. Lend me a
clothes-brush."

" But what about Fewston ? "

"That's why I want the clothes-brush. He's
in it pretty deep, one way and another, eh ? We'll
go round and collect that money."

Cap'en Jollyfax's Gun

'HHE fame of Cap'en Jollyfax's gun spread
1 wide over Thames mouth and the coasts
thereabout, in the years before and after the
middle of the nineteenth century. The gun was
no such important thing to look at, being a little
brass cannon short of a yard long, standing in
a neat little circle of crushed cockle-shell, with a
border of nicely matched flints, by the side of
Cap'en Jollyfax's white flagstaff, before Cap'en
Jollyfax's blue front door, on the green ridge that
backed the marshes and overlooked the sea. But
small as Cap'en Jollyfax's gun might be to look at,
it was most amazingly large to hear ; perhaps not
so deep and thunderous as loud and angry, with
a ringing bang that seemed to tear the ear-drums.
Cap'en Jollyfax fired the gun at midnight on
Christmas eve, to start the carollers. Again he
fired it at midnight between the old year and
the new, to welcome the year ; on the ninth
of January, because that was the anniversary
of Nelson's funeral, and on the twenty-eighth,

65 F

GREEN GINGER

because that was the date of the battle of
Aliwal, then a recent victory. He fired it on
the Queen's birthday, on Waterloo day, Trafalgar
day, St. Clement's day — for Clement was the
parish saint — and on the anniversary of the
battle of the Nile ; and on the fifth of November
he fired it at intervals all day long, and as fast
as he could clean and load it after dark. He
also fired it on his own birthday, on Roboshobery
Dove's, Sam Prentice's, old Tom Blyth's, and any
other casual birthday he might hear of. He fired
it in commemoration of every victory reported
during the Crimean war and the Indian Mutiny,
he fired it to celebrate all weddings, some
christenings, and once when they hanged a man
at Springfield gaol.

Cap'en Jollyfax was a retired master mariner
of lusty girth and wide and brilliant countenance.
In the intervals between the discharges of his gun
he painted his cottage, his flagstaff, his garden
fence and gate, and any other thing that was his
on which paint would stay, except the gun, which
he kept neatly scoured and polished.

He painted the flagstaff white, the fence green,
and the cottage in several colours ; and the
abiding mystery of Cap'en Jollyfax's establishment
was what ultimately became of the paint. For a
new coat succeeded the last very soon after the

surface was sufficiently dry, and the consumption
of paint was vast ; and yet the flagstaff never
seemed to grow much thicker, nor did the fence,
as a reasonable person would expect, develop into
a continuous wall of paint, supported within by
a timber skeleton.

Cap'en Jollyfax was a popular man on the
whole, though perhaps more particularly so with
boys, because of his gun. They would congregate
about the fence to watch him clean it and load it,
and the happiest of all boys was the one who
chanced to be nearest when it was fired, and whose
ears was loudest assailed by the rending bang that
was so delightful to every boy's senses. Boys
dreamed at night of some impossible adventure
by the issue whereof the happy dreamer was
accorded the reward of permission to fire Cap'en
Jollyfax's gun ; and one boy at least formed a
dark project of hoarding pennies, buying powder,
escaping by perilous descent from his bedroom
window, and firing Cap'en Jollyfax's gun lawlessly
in the depth of night.

But if the gun enhanced Cap'en Jollyfax's
popularity among the boys, its tendency was
otherway with the women — those in particular
who lived near enough to be startled by its 'noise.
The natural feminine distrust of all guns in all
circumstances was increased in the case of a brass

GREEN GINGER

cannon, which might go off at any moment of
Cap'en Jollyfax's crowded calendar. And it was
asserted that Mrs. Billing, the widow, who lived
at the hill-foot, exactly under Cap'en Jollyfax's
line of fire, had been startled into the destruction
of three basins and a large dish within one month
of many birthdays. Mrs. Billing, indeed, as was
to be expected from her situation, was the brass
gun's chief enemy. Consequently, if Cap'en
Jollyfax had dragged his gun up the aisle of Leigh
church and fired it under the pulpit he could
scarcely have startled the parishioners more than
did the rector when he first read the banns of
marriage between John Jollyfax, bachelor, and
Mary Ann Billing, widow, both of that parish.

Except for the gun there need have been little
to startle Leigh, for Cap'en Jollyfax was none so
old, as retired skippers went thereabout, and
Mrs. Billing was as neat and pleasant a widow of
forty-two as might be found in Essex, where the
widows have always been admirable. Moreover,
she had no incumbrance in the way of children.

But there was no mistaking the fact now, even
for the deaf who were not at church. For the
succeeding fortnight and a day or two over Cap'en
Jollyfax and Mrs. Billing were visible, day by
day and arm-in-arm, from shop to shop, in Leigh
High Street. The result was no great advance

CAP'EN JOLLYFAX'S GUN

in the retail commerce of Leigh — in fact, none.
The household appointments of both Cap'en
Jollyfax and Mrs. Billing were fairly complete
in their humble way ; and when Mrs. Billing
had triumphantly hauled Cap'en Jollyfax into
an ironmonger's in pursuit of a certain fish-
kettle or a particular fender, she was certain
presently to discover that just such an article
embellished Cap'en Jollyfax's kitchen, or her own.
Nevertheless, she persevered, for a bout of shop-
ping was the proper preliminary to any respectable
wedding, and must be performed with full pomp
and circumstance ; and if nothing, or very little,
was actually bought, so much the cheaper. Mrs.
Billing was resolved to be baulked of no single
circumstance of distinction and triumph appertain-
ing to the occasion. And Cap'en Jollyfax was
mightily relieved to find so much shopping cost
so little after all ; so that he grew gradually more
cheerful as the wedding-day neared, which is said
not to be invariably the case in these circumstances.
The wedding was fixed for the morning of a
certain Wednesday, and on the evening before the
day Mrs. Billing spent some little time in glorious
authority on Cap'en Jollyfax's premises, superin-
tending the labour of Mrs. Packwood, who did
charing, and was now employed to make the
domestic arrangements of the place suit the fancies

GREEN GINGER

of its coming mistress. Flushed with hours of
undisputed command, Mrs. Billing emerged in
the little garden, whereunto Cap'en Jollyfax
had retreated early in the operations ; and there
perceived to-morrow's bridegroom in the act ot
withdrawing a broomstick from the mouth of the
brass gun.

"What ha' you been a-doing to that gun,
John ? " demanded Mrs. Billing rather peremp-
torily, eyeing the weapon askant.

" A-givin' her a rub up inside an' out," answered
Cap'en Jollyfax placably. " An' I've just rammed
her with a good big charge ready for to-morrow."

"Why for to-morrow?" Mrs. Billing's voice
was a trifle sharper still, and she turned a fresh
glance of unmistakable dislike on the gun.

" Why for to-morrow ? " Cap'en Jollyfax
repeated wonderingly. "Why, weddin'-day, o'
course. Touch her off when we come home
from church."

"Nothin' o' the sort." She spoke now with
a positive snap. " A nasty dangerous, banging
thing as frightens people out o' their seven senses.
I won't hev it. Why, 'twere almost more'n I
could stand down there at the bottom o' the
hill, an' hev that thing go off near me I will not,
so there."

Cap'en Jollyfax stared blankly. " What ! "
70

CAP'EN JOLLYFAX'S GUN

he jerked out, scarce believing his ears, " not
fire the gun on the weddin'-day ? "

" No," Mrs. Billing replied emphatically, " nor
any other day, neither. Folk 'ud think you were
a little boy, a-playin' with sich toys ; an' I can't
abear to be near the thing."

The staring wonder faded gradually trom Cap'en
Jollyfax's face, and a certain extra redness
succeeded it. " I be goin' to fire my gun on my
weddin'-day," he said firmly.

" You ben't nothin' o' the sort," rejoined the
widow, no less firmly ; " not on my weddin'-day.
Nayther then nor after, if I'm your wife. Just
you take the charge out o' that gun."

Cap'en Jollyfax shook his head, with something
like triumph in his eye. " Won't come out 'cept
you fire it," he said. " That's the onny way."

" Very well then, fire it now — not now, but as
soon as I be gone. Fire off your gun for the last
time to-night, and be done with sich foolishness."

" Ben't nothin' to fire it for to-day," the old
sailor returned shortly. " This gun's my depart-
ment, an' I'm goin' to 'tend to it. I'm goin' to put
the tarpaulin over it now, an' to-morrow, Polly,
when we're back from church, I'm goin' to fire it."

Mrs. Billing bridled. " You're a-goin' to fire
that gun before I go to church with 'ee, John
Jollyfax, an' not load it agin, nayther."

GREEN GINGER

a I'm a-goin' to fire this gun when we're back
from church, an' afterwards when proper."

" Cap'en John Jollyfax, I ben't goin' to church
with 'ee till after that gun be fired. So now you
know. If you don't fire it to-night you must
fire it to-morrow before I turn a step toward
church. That's my word on it."

" I'm a-going' to fire my gun when I like,"
growled Cap'en Jollyfax, dogged and sulky.

" Very well," replied the widow, tossing her
head and turning away, " then if you want me
to wed 'ee, an' when you want me to wed 'ee,
you'll fire it first. Then, maybe, I'll consider of
it. But no wife o' yours I'll be till that powder
be fired off. An' so good-evenin' to 'ee, Cap'en
Jollyfax."

That was the beginning of a period of vast
interest and excitement in Leigh and its neigh-
bourhood. Cap'en Jollyfax's gun remained silent
all that night, nor was it fired in the morning.
What Mrs. Billing's feelings were in the matter,
whether she sat anxiously listening for the sound
of the gun, as some averred, or dismissed the
whole subject from her mind, as her subsequent
conversation with Mrs. Peck suggested, are secrets
I cannot pretend to have penetrated. Cap'en
Jollyfax, on his part, consulted deeply in the
morning with Roboshobery Dove, and evolved a

CAP'EN JOLLYFAX'S GUN

scheme of strategy suited to the physical features
of the place. As the hour fixed for the wedding
drew near, Cap'en Jollyfax, in his best blue coat
with brass buttons and his very shiniest hard
glazed hat, approached the churchyard and took
his seat, in a non-committal sort of way, on the
low stone wall that bounded it, with his back
toward the church. Roboshobery Dove crouched
behind a corner of the same wall, vastly incon-
venienced by his wooden leg, but steadily directing
his telescope downhill, so that it bore exactly on
the door of Mrs. Billing's cottage. It was
Roboshobery's duty, as look-out man, to report
instantly if Mrs. Billing were seen emerging from
the door with her best bonnet on, in which event
Cap'en Jollyfax would at once leave the wall and
take up his position at the church door to receive
her. Failing that, Cap'en Jollyfax would be
spared the ignominy of waiting at the church for
a bride who never came.

At intervals Cap'en Jollyfax took his pipe
from his mouth and roared : " Look-out ahoy ! "

" Aye, aye, sir ! " came the unvarying reply.

u Hev 'ee sighted ? "

" Nothin' but the door ! "

Whereat the watch would resume for ten
minutes more.

It was three-quarters of an hour past the time

GREEN GINGER

fixed, when the rector, himself never very punctual,
came angrily to the church door, surveyed the
small crowd which had gathered, and became
aware of Cap'en Jollyfax's strategy.

" What's the meaning of this ? " he demanded
of Mrs. Peck, who, in fact, was spying in the
interests of the opposite party. " Where's Mrs.
Billing ? "

" Mrs. Billing, sir, she say she'll never think
o' comin' till Cap'en Jollyfax hev fired the gun."

The rector stared at Mrs. Peck for fifteen
seconds, passed his fingers once backward and
once forward through his hair, and then without
a word retired to the vestry.

Roboshobery Dove maintained his watch, and
the little crowd waited patiently till the shadow
of the dial over the church porch lay well past
twelve o'clock, and the legal time for a wedding
was over. Then Cap'en Jollyfax hauled out his
silver watch and roared, though Roboshobery Dove
was scarce a dozen yards off : " Look-out ahoy ! "

" Aye, aye, sir ! "

" Eight bells ! "

With that Roboshobery Dove hauled out his
own watch, banged it, as usual, on the socket
of his wooden leg, clapped it against his ear, and
then held it before his eyes. Finally, having
restored the watch to his breeches-pocket, he

CAP'EN JOLLYFAX'S GUN

shut the telescope, stood erect and rejoined his
principal ; and the two old sailors stumped off
solemnly toward Cap'en Jollyfax's cottage.

All that day Cap'en Jollyfax's gun remained
silent, and all the next. The day after that was
June the first, on which date Cap'en Jolly fax
had been wont to fire the gun in celebration of
Howe's victory. But this time the Glorious First
went unhonoured, and it was perceived that
Cap'en Jollyfax was mighty stubborn. Monday,
the fourth, was Sam Prentice's birthday, but
Cap'en Jollyfax's gun stood dumb still.

Leigh had never before listened so eagerly for
a bang as it listened now for the report that
should publish the submission of Cap'en Jollyfax ;
but still the report did not come. People took
sides, and bets were made. It was observed that
Cap'en Jollyfax was grown peevish and morose,
that he shunned his friends and moped at home.

Mrs. Billing, on the other hand, went abroad
as always, gay and smiling as ever. Cap'en
Jollyfax might do as he pleased, said Mrs. Billing,
but she wasn't going to marry him while the
charge remained in that gun. If he chose to
fire it out — well, she might think over the matter
again, but she was none so sure of even that, now.

The days went on, and Cap'en Jolly fax's friends
grew concerned for him. He was obstinate

GREEN GINGER

enough, but brooding, it was plain. Robo-
shobery Dove, with much ingenuity, sought to
convince him that by persisting in his deter-
mination he was defeating himself, since there
was now an end of gun-fire altogether. Cap'en
Jollyfax thought a little over that aspect of the
case, but did not fire the gun. It was thought,
however, that he could scarce hold out much
longer. He was said to have been seen one
afternoon stealthily rubbing over the gun and
renewing the priming.

A fortnight went, and with June the eighteenth
everybody expected to see an end of the business ;
for in truth Waterloo day would have made the
best excuse of the year. But for the first time
since Cap'en Jollyfax came to the cottage Waterloo
day passed unsaluted. People wondered and
shook their heads ; surely it couldn't last much
longer ?

And indeed it did not. There was another
silent day, and then in the dead of night of the
nineteenth, Leigh was startled once more by the
bang of Cap'en Jollyfax's gun. Louder and
sharper than ever it rang in the still of the night,
and folk jumped upright in their beds at the
shock. Heads pushed out from latticed case-
ments in Leigh High Street, and conversation
passed between opposite gables.

CAP'EN JOLLYFAX'S GUN

" Did 'ee hear ? 'Twcre up at Cap'en Jolly-
fax's ! "

u Hear ? I'd think so ! Cap'en Jollyfax hev
fired the gun ! "

And so word passed all through Leigh and
about on the moment, within house and out of
window : " Cap'en Jollyfax hev fired the gun !
Cap'en Jollyfax hev fired the gun ! "

But in fact no sleeper in all Leigh bounced
higher in his bed than Cap'en Jollyfax himself;
and that for good reason, for the gun was almost
under his bedroom window.

The gun ! It was the gun ! Somebody
had fired it ! Those boys — those rascal boys,
rapscallion boys, cheeky boys, plaguey, villainous,
accursed, infernal boys ! Cap'en Jollyfax fell into
a pair of trousers and downstairs in one complicated
gymnastic, and burst into the garden under the
thin light of a clouded moon. There stood the
gun, uncovered, and there by its side lay the
tarpaulin — no, not the tarpaulin, it would seem,
but a human figure ; a woman in a swoon.

Cap'en Jollyfax turned her over and stared
close down into her face. " Why ! " he cried,
« Polly ! Polly ! What's this ? "

With that her eyes opened. " Be that you,
John?" she said. "I den't count 'twould go
off that fearful sudden ! "

Snorkey Timms, His Marks

' I 'HIS is another tale of Snorkey Timms, the
disreputable acquaintance of whom I have
written in other places. It is now years since
I saw Snorkey, and I never had the faintest
excuse for such an acquaintanceship, except that
he was an amusing scoundrel and full of informa-
tion that cannot be derived from any person of
the smallest respectability.

It was at a time long after Snorkey's adventure
with the bags of bricks at Liverpool Street, of
which I have told elsewhere, after he had told
it me in a faro-house at Whitechapel ; the time,
in fact, was when the banker at that same faro-
table was the envy of Snorkey's soul and his
ideal of sublunary good fortune. From Snorkey's
point of view, indeed, there was reason. Snorkey
was a mere Cockney picker-up of trifles — and
other things — that were not too carefully watched ;
Mr. Issy Marks during the day was a wholesale
merchant with a fancy-goods warehouse in a little
turning out of Houndsditch, and in the evening

SNORKEY TIMMS, HIS MARKS

he sat at the receipt of custom at the faro-den,
the only man at the table who always won.
Indeed, he paid the proprietor fifteen shillings
an hour for the privilege of sitting banker, and
made a very handsome thing of it on the top of
that. Why Snorkey and others like him should
have persisted in contributing nightly to Mr.
Issy Marks's income was not a question easily
to be resolved by the impartial observer ; the
language wherewith they signalised their regular
losses wholly precluded the supposition that they
did it out of sheer benevolence to Mr. Marks.
Yet they were far from being fools in the
ordinary sense, and, in fact, were rather apt to
pride themselves on their general knowingness ;
still they came, stood before the eight squares
chalked on the table, saw their stakes decrease
and vanish by a system which plainly and obviously
must benefit the banker all through and nobody
else, went away poor and angry, and came again
the next night and all the nights after that to
lose more money. There was no reason in it, but
there was the phenomenon, and Mr. Marks did
very well out of it, as did many another "banker"
in many another gambling-house in those parts.

For this, and for the presumed wealth in the
fancy-goods business, Mr. Issy Marks was re-
garded with much envy. The business had its

GREEN GINGER

place in a humpbacked little old house that stood
uncomfortably shouldered and squeezed between
two larger buildings, not so old but quite as dirty,
in a rather grimy little street that led from
Houndsditch to some undiscovered region beyond.
There were scores of such places thereabout, with
huddled little thick-framed windows, wherein
flashy cheap china ornaments, framed oleographs,
combs on cards of a dozen, shell-covered boxes,
brushes, sponges, and a hundred such things
tumbled loose among cardboard boxes. These
establishments were the small wholesale concerns
which supplied still smaller retail shops in the
eastern and southern suburbs. There were
bigger houses among them than Mr. Marks's,
and busier ; but his had the reputation — at least
among his humble admirers — of carrying a solid
trade of the sort called " snug."

Now it was the quaint and interesting custom
of Snorkey, and all his friends of like habits, to
inspect very often, and with loving care, the
premises of prosperous persons who aroused their
respect and envy as Mr. Marks had done
Snorkey's. They counted the windows and
speculated on the probable interior fastenings
of doors. They peeped through keyholes un-
observed, affectionately patted shutters, and groped
inquiringly about their iron fastenings. Their

SNORKEY TIMMS, HIS MARKS

kindly interest even extended to the houses
adjoining, the roofs, ladders, trapdoors, and
possible means of intercommunication. They
have been known to stand in cold streets for
hours watching the lights on the window-blinds
that screened the objects of their solicitude, and
even the most careless of them never omitted to
make sympathetic, if unostentatious, inquiries as
to the comings and goings of the inmates, and
the exact positions of their sleeping apartments.

Snorkey, therefore, was aware that Mr. Issy
Marks's warehouse was locked up and left to
itself at night. He knew, also, that the back
of the place could be reached from a paved alley
by the scaling ot an easy wall ; that packing-
cases littered the back yard ; and that any
person standing on one or two of the largest
could reach a window that was not barred. Such
things as these were always among the first
noticed by Snorkey in any house in which he
took an intelligent interest. And, as regards
this particular house, observation had taught
him other things also. For instance, although
the stock generally was not of a costly description,
there was a good deal of cheap, thin, showy
silver, which would melt down just as well as
the same metal in heavier and more expensively
finished pieces. There was a little safe in the

81 G

GREEN GINGER

back room on the ground floor, and there was
all the possibility of a little jewellery. On the
whole, Snorkey decided that he had fallen in love
with Mr. Marks's warehouse, and must take an
early opportunity to scrape a closer acquaintance.

The opportunity, in fact, seemed to be occurring
every night ; so that between the moment when
Snorkey fully realised the state of his affections
and the evening on which he seized his oppor-
tunity very few hours elapsed.

It was Mr. Marks's habit to bolt and bar his
warehouse at seven each evening, and bid it and
its business farewell till the next morning ; for
he lived at Mile End. On the evening of
Snorkey's venture he left as usual, and Snorkey,
from a convenient entry, saw him go. So much
being ascertained, the adventurer loitered for an
hour amid the society of the Three Tuns, and
then leisurely took his way to the faro " club."

This place was reached by way of an innocent-
looking door, with a very respectable electric bell,
at the end of a little court of newly built offices
and shops. It you were known, the door instantly
opened to your ring ; if you were not, you might
ring the battery down without effect. That was
because the door-keeper sat on a pair of steps
within, with his eye near the fanlight. Snorkey
Timms was no stranger, and with no more delay

SNORKEY TIMMS, HIS MARKS

than sufficed for the silent opening and closing
of the door, and a careful groping through a long
passage, he emerged into the light and noise of
the gaming-room. Mr. Marks was there as
usual, with a cigar in his mouth, his hat at the
back of his head, and his eyes on the cards he
was shuffling and dealing on the table before him.
An eager little crowd was clubbed thickly round
the other three sides of the table, the rear rank
climbing on the backs of the ranks before them,
every man with his hand thrust out to its fullest
reach, following the fortunes of his stake where
it lay on the chalked diagram, and eager to snatch
at the winnings that came so sparsely.

Snorkey staked a shilling, partly because he
was always ready to gamble, and partly because,
in view of the possible events of the night, it was
not " the game " to make himself conspicuous by
a change in his usual habits on this particular
evening. The shilling went into Mr. Marks's
heap, followed quickly by another, and two more,
and some others after that.

" Banker's 'avin' all the luck again," remarked
a friend to Snorkey. " Turns up the card with
the most agin it every time, an' 'e's halved stakes
eight times since I come in."

Snorkey tried a double chance with two shillings,
and lost them in successive turns.

GREEN GINGER

" No good — it's givin1 Mm yer money to-night,"
remarked the friend. " There's a chap over here's
bin puttin' down half quids an' quids, and never
savin' a stake. Marks's luck's in to-night."

As a fact, the banker's luck always is in at
faro, but to-night it was favouring him so well
that even the punters noticed it ; and punters at
faro must either be blind in general to the banker's
luck or take it as a matter of course. As his
loose silver dwindled and Mr. Marks's heap of
money rose, Snorkey grew the more resolved on
his project for the night, and more and more
persuaded that his claim on the Marks estate was
a justifiable and, indeed, almost a legal one.

He stayed about the faro-table till near eleven,
and then sauntered quietly out. It was scarce
more than five minutes' walk to the house by
Houndsditch, and the street, the warehouse, and
the alley behind were all quiet and dark. But
there was a light in a top window in the house
to the left of Marks's, and, as Snorkey had the
whole night before him for his adventure, he
waited and took a turn about the streets to kill
time.

^Vhen he returned it was nearer twelve than
eleven, and the lodger in the next house was in
bed. Snorkey wasted no more time, but hurried
into the paved alley and scaled the wall.

SNORKEY TIMMS, HIS MARKS

Mr. Marks's back yard was an uncomfortable
place to traverse by night, short as the distance
was ; for unseen boxes and cases met the shins
and knuckles of the explorer, and, while the
quietest possible progress involved some amount
of noise, there was always the danger of knocking
over something with a thunderous clatter.

Snorkey was cautious and slow, for there was
no need to hurry. He reached the wall of the
house and stood to listen. It was a still night —
too still for such an enterprise as Snorkey's ; small
sounds were very clear. But then if every burglar
refused to work except in perfect conditions, the
whole industry would come to a standstill.

There was no sound to cause uneasiness. There
was the tread of a policeman, of course, but that
was reassuring. It is a pleasant sound in the ear
of a burglar, audible for an enormous distance,
giving him confidence ; when he cannot hear it
he is never sure that the policeman isn't watching
him. This friendly sound came from Hounds-
ditch, harmoniously beating time for the now
subdued hum of London. The sky was clear
and cloudless above, though dark ; and a few
stars looked down on Snorkey's experiment and
winked encouragingly.

It is not easy to set one rough packing-case
firmly on another, on a dark night, without

GREEN GINGER

noise ; and when you have done it, even with
a little noise, it is still more difficult to climb
on the top case without a great deal more noise
still, and more than a chance of a clamorous
tumble. But these difficulties were surmounted,
and once the window was reached, that offered
no difficulties at all. For Snorkey had brought
his tools. First, a catch-'em-alive-oh paper,
doubled inward, so as to go safely in the pocket.
This, being carefully opened out, was spread over
the pane nearest the sash fastening and smacked
in the middle with the flat hand. The pane was
abolished, and came away in a hundred fragments,
all sticking to the paper, and all quiet. Then
it needed but the insertion of a hand to open
the catch, and the window was conquered.

Snorkey climbed in, shut the window quietly,
and pulled down the blind — a thing that Mr.
Marks had neglected. Then he produced some
more tools. First, a lantern made of nothing but
a little tin box with a stump of candle in it, so
that light was only thrown where it was needed,
and a puff would quench it.

Now when the scrap of candle was lit, the
first thing revealed to his sight was not at all
what Snorkey was looking for. It was, in fact,
a heap of shavings on the floor — wet shavings.
It was partly under a table which was piled

SNORKEY TIMMS, HIS MARKS

above with cardboard boxes, many of them
broken. The boxes seemed damp, too, and when
Snorkey approached to examine them he grew
aware of a distinct smell of paraffin oil. There
was nothing in the boxes, it would seem, but
more shavings ; and paper — also wet. Snorkey's
eyebrows lifted and his lips pursed. But he saved
the whistle for a future occasion.

He looked about the room. The walls were
lined with shelves and stacked with boxes, but
there seemed very little in the boxes. Mr. Marks
appeared to be stocking a deal of straw and dirty
paper. Also shavings, again. But there was
one box of hair-brushes which much interested
Snorkey. He knew that Marks sold many of
these cheap, silver-backed hair-brushes whereof
the silver covering behind, thin as paper, was
stamped into much highly relieved ornament, with
a view to a spurious massiveness of appearance ;
and he had designed to rip off those silver backs
with a jack-knife and roll them up for easier
transport. Well, here were the very brushes.
But the silver backs had been ripped off already !

Snorkey dropped the lid on the box and saved
up another whistle. Then he went out on the
landing (where there were more shavings) and
down the narrow stairs, almost into another heap
of shavings at the bottom. He made straight

GREEN GINGER

for the little safe, pulling from his inner coat
pocket as he went the " stick," whose Christian
name is James or Jemmy.

It was an elegant little weapon, with a fine
chisel end, and he began by thrusting that chisel
end in the crack of the door near the top. There
are some of these cheap safes from which you may
tear off the outer plate of the door in this very
elementary way. This, however, did not seem
to be one of them, for the immediate result was
nothing but the breaking of a fragment from the
point of the "James."

Snorkey gazed ruefully at the broken point —
for the tool was a borrowed one — and then gave
a twist to the cross handle in the middle of the
door. The safe was unlocked !

The door swung open and disclosed account-
books and nothing else. At the bottom were
two little drawers, which were certainly locked,
but came open with bent fronts at the first
wrench of the " stick." They were empty.

Snorkey looked round the room and shook
his head despondently. There was a perfect
wealth of common shell boxes and cheap sponges
here, but that was not the sort of wealth he
had come for. The room also had its heap of
shavings, piled against a stack of the shell boxes,
and a three-gallon can of paraffin oil stood near it.

SNORKEY TIMMS, HIS MARKS

He entered the shop very quietly, for now he
might be heard from the street. The stock he
disregarded, but tried the till. It contained not
so much as a button. Clearly this was not the
venture Snorkey had looked for. He shook his
head again and returned to the back room. Then
he very deliberately pocketed his tools, blew out
his candle-light, and sat on the stairs to wait
for Mr. Marks. For he had seen things that
made him expect him.

It was very quiet, and more than a little dull.
But presently the humour of the situation so
presented itself to Snorkey that the silence was
broken by a chuckle, which grew into something
rather like a snigger. Mr. Marks would find an
unexpected card had turned up, this deal !

The church clocks began to strike twelve,
some near, some far, and presently St. Botolph's,
clanging loud and close. In the midst of the
strokes there was a thump at the front door.
Startling for the moment, but only a policeman
testing the fastenings. His receding tramp was
quite clear, now that the clocks had ceased to
strike.

Mr. Marks was very slow, and more than
once Snorkey was in danger of falling asleep.
He was listening for the stroke of one, and
wondering if he might already have missed it

GREEN GINGER

by dozing, when at last there came the expected
click in the lock, and with extraordinary sudden-
ness Marks was in the shop with the door closed
behind him. Plainly he must have been watching
his opportunity, and had reached the door and
turned the familiar lock swiftly and quietly.
And in another moment he was groping in the
back room, within two yards of his visitor.

Snorkey felt for his matches and his lantern ;
but as he did so a match was struck in the
middle of the room, and revealed Marks in the
act of lighting a lantern of his own. Snorkey
waited till the flame was well established and
the lantern closed, and then said cheerfully :
" Ah ! good mornin', Mr. Marks ! "

With a bounce and a faint yelp, Mr. Marks
sprang back against a pile of boxes, livid and
gasping, with a terrified whimper in his throat.

" All right, Mr. Marks ! Don't jump ! It's
only me ! Quite a old friend ! " And Snorkey
lifted the lantern and held it by the side of his
face, whereon flickered something vastly like a
grin.

" Vat d'you — d'you vant ? " gasped Marks,
panting with the shock. " Vat d'you vant ? "

" Want to give meself up," answered Snorkey
crisply. " Burglary — breakin' an' enterin' ; I'm
a 'orrid criminal. I broke in."

SNORKEY TIMMS, HIS MARKS

Marks gulped twice before he got a word out.
" You broke in ? " he repeated.

" Burglariously busted your back window, an'
been waitin' 'ere about an hour an' a 'alf to
confess. I've repented."

" You — you — vat ? "

" I've repented. Anybody would as didn't
come for shavings. If I'd wanted shavings I'd
ha' made a good stroke o' business to-night ;
shavings, or waste paper, or paraffin. Not wantin'
'em, I've repented. Lock me up."

Mr. Marks clapped his hand distractedly to the
side of his head. " You go — go avay ! " he said.

Snorkey shook his head, put down the lantern,
and sat on the edge of the table. " Couldn't
think of it," he said. u Couldn't think o' goin'
away now, after all the wickedness I've committed.
My conscience wouldn't stand it. You fetch
the p'lice an' 'ave me punished proper."

Mr. Marks looked up and down the room
and towards the shop and up the stairs, thought-
fully. The shock of surprise was passing, to be
succeeded by a desperate perplexity.

" All right," he said at length. " I don't vant
to punish you. You can go."

" No, no," Snorkey replied cordially. " Don't
you let your feelin's get worked on, Mr. Marks.
You dunno what a 'orrid chap I've bin. O'

GREEN GINGER

course I've repented now, but that was only 'cos
of the shavings. You can't rightly count a repent-
ance 'cos of shavings — not by the proper rules."

" Go along," answered Marks, with a furtive
lowering of voice. u I tell you I von't say
noddin' about it. Ve understand each other."

Snorkey shook his head. " I doubt it, Mr.
Marks," he sighed. " It ain't easy for a gent
like you to understand a thorough wrong 'un
like me ; anyhow, it seems a bit 'ard this time.
You don't mean to say you forgive me — goin'
to take mercy on me ? "

" Yes. Go on."

" Mr. Marks, you're a nobleman. I'm willin'
enough. I can be took mercy on, on very
reasonable terms. My little — er — commission, as
you might say, for bein' forgiven, ought to be
about fifty quid, I should say, this time."

" Vat ? "

c< Fifty quid, I said. You see, it wants rather
a lot o' forgiveness for a burglary as wicked as
this. The drawers in your safe's all bent anyhow,
an' your first-floor back window's quite shockin'."

" You've got a fine cheek," snarled Mr. Marks,
by this time much recovered. " Vy you expect
me to pay anyting ? You're lucky not to be
took up ! "

" What I said meself ! " replied Snorkey.
92

SNORKEY TIMMS, HIS MARKS

" Fetch the p'lice. Or I'll go an' fetch 'em if
you like."

" No, no ! But fifty quid's ridic'luth ! Besides,
I got no money here ! "

" All right ; I'll wait here for it till the mornin'.
It's warmer 'ere than out in the cold unfeelin'
streets."

" No, no ! You must go ! Now, come, be rea-
thonable, Mr. Thnorkey. I'll see you to-morrow
an' make it all right. Tholemn vord I vill ! "

Snorkey winked, and shook his head inexorably.
" You don't understand the wicked feelin's of a
'ardened criminal, Mr. Marks. D'ye know, I'm
sunk that low I wouldn't take your word for it !
I wouldn't ! Shockin', ain't it ? "

" But fifty's out o' reathon ! It'th abthurd ! "

" Well, beat me down, Mr. Marks. Offer me
forty."

" No, no — ridicl'uth. I've got a quid vid me ;
p'r'aps thirty bob."

" Ridic'lous, too, ain't it ? Why, I've broke
the point of a tool as is worth as much as that.
And if I 'adn't turned up, the place might V
bin afire ! It might, the dangerous way things
like paraffin is left about ! It might 'a' broke
out any minute if it 'adn't bin for me."

" I'll give ye five quid, come ! "

" Can't be done at the price. My conscience

GREEN GINGER

won't allow it ; it's a special good conscience, is
mine ! It comes a lot dearer than that."

ct But ven I've got no more, vat can I do ? "

" Just now you 'adn't got no more than thirty
bob ; now it's growed to five quid. If 1 stop
'ere you'll be a millionaire by the mornin', Mr.
Marks, Exquire, an' all through me. I'll stop."

" No, no ; be a thport, Mr. Thnorkey, an' give
a man a chance. Vat'll you take — reathonable ? "

" Ah, you see, it's growed a bit more a'ready.
I said it would. You'd better let me stop, for
your own sake. But if you'd really rather not,
why, I think I can make a better guess at what
you've got on you than you can yourself. If
you've got five quid, an' a bit more, on ye, it
means you 'aven't took your winnin's home from
the club yet. You always change the silver afore
you come away, I know. I guess twenty quid.
If there's more — why, you can keep it for your
honesty. But that's my charge — ab-so ! "

Time was going, and as a fact the sum in Mr.
Marks's pockets was well above his tormentor's
estimate. He thought for a moment, looked into
Snorkey's eyes with a gaze of agonised reproach,
turned his back, and counted out the money
in gold. Then he turned again with a sigh and
paid it over.

" He seemed quite out o' temper payin' over

SNORKEY T1MMS, HIS MARKS

that little bit," Snorkey said, long afterward,
relating the adventure. " Quite rusty 'e was.
'Adn't got what you might call a sense of 'umour,
I s'pose. Some people ain't. But I told 'im
very cheerful to be careful about strikin' matches
an' such, with all them com — combustious things
about, an' I come away.

" I come down the street, an' turned into
Houndsditch, an' there what should I see but
a fire-alarm post. You know where it is — just
at the corner. Well, you know, I felt a bit
nervous about Mr. Marks. It was a dangerous
kind o' place for anybody to be about in with
a light, an' somehow I 'ad a 'orrid sort o' pre-
sentiment that the 'ouse might catch afire after
all. You know the way one o' them presenti-
ments gets 'old of you, sometimes. Well, this
'ere one 'o mine was that strong that I took my
chance with the alarm. I smashed the glass, an'
I tugged the 'andle till I very near tugged it
out, an' then I ran 'ome fast, 'cos it was late.

a An' the most re-markable co-in-f/dence about
the 'ole thing was — when the fire-engines got
round there, there was a fire ! There was, on
my solemn davy ! Wasn't it wonderful ? An'
Mr. Marks got in sich a muddle explainin' 'ow
the accident 'appened that they gave him two
years hard ! "

The Copper Charm

OF the relics of Cunning Murrell, the wise
man of Essex, I have seen many, and I
own some — his books of conjuration and geo-
mancy, scores of his written horoscopes ; and of
his actual implements of magic I have seen the
famous glass by which he, or anybody else, was
enabled to see through a brick wall. This amaz-
ing instrument gained him vast consideration and
authority among the unlearned of Essex up to
and beyond the middle of the nineteenth century ;
but matter-of-fact examination, at a time when
Cunning Murrell was altogether too dead to
prevent it, robbed the wonder of all its mystery.
For indeed, it was nothing but a simple arrange-
ment of the mirrors in a wooden case, such as a
schoolboy might make for himself with a little
patience and the ruins of a shaving-glass. But
it served its turn well, and it was by this and
other such aids that Murrell became, and remained
to his life's end, something like absolute sovereign
of all Essex outside the great houses.

THE COPPER CHARM

But there was another instrument, or talk of
it at least, of far stranger purport. There was
talk of it still, twenty years and more after its
reputed possessor was gathered to his fathers and
his twenty-one children in Hadleigh church-
yard. This was said to be nothing less than a
strange disc of dull copper, by aid whereof
Cunning Murrell could distinguish the true man
from the liar. For the liar might stare at it till
his eyes were sore, yet never could he see in it
anything but its mere material self — a round plate
of common dull copper ; while it was the peculiar
virtue of an honest man's eyes to perceive on
the dim surface something — something of which
only Cunning Murrell had the secret ; something
which the gazer must declare to him as proof and
test of his truth. But of what that something
was nobody could tell a word ; for indeed it
would seem that nobody had ever seen it. And
yet belief in its existence was wide as Essex ;
though there has been a suspicion that the whole
report was the invention of that squinting humorist,
Dan Fisk. For he had a deal to do with the
only tale of the charm I know.

In those days Hadleigh Fair occurred once a
year, on Midsummer Day. Rochford Market
was held once a week, on Thursday. On Roch-
ford Market night the neighbouring roads carried

97 H

GREEN GINGER

many convivial home-goers by horse, dog-cart,
waggon, and foot ; on Hadleigh Fair night there
was far greater conviviality and many more con-
vivials. But when Hadleigh Fair fell on the same
day as Rochford Market (as needs it must in some
years) then the resulting jollity was as the square
of Hadleigh hilarity plus the cube of Rochford
revelry, involved to the nth power, and a great deal
more involved than that, too, if you can believe it.

It was on one of these days of joyous coin-
cidence that Abel Pennyfather gave Joe Barstow
and Elijah Weeley a lift to Rochford Market in
his cart, and so made occasion for this appeal to
Murrell's talisman.

Hadleigh Fair grew active at seven in the
morning ; so that there had been seven hours of
it ere Abel Pennyfather's cart set out at two in
the afternoon. Seven hours of Hadleigh Fair
and its overwhelming gooseberry pie ! For it was
the gooseberrypie, crown and symbol of Hadleigh
Fair, that made the anniversary formidable to the
human constitution. It was the property of this
potent confection to cause many with whom
it disagreed to fall asleep in ditches, and others
to penetrate into the wrong houses on all-fours.
An extraordinary unsteadiness of the legs, widely
prevalent on fair day, had been distinctly traced
to gooseberry pie by many expert victims, and a

THE COPPER CHARM

certain waviness of outline in Hadleigh scenery
could be attributed to nothing else.

So that after several hours of Hadleigh Fair,
and a long monotony of gooseberry pie, it struck
Joe Bar stow and Elijah Weeley that a visit to
Rochford Market would make a welcome change.
Abel Pennyfather's cart offered the opportunity,
and that opportunity, embodied and made visible in
the tailboard, Joe Barstow seized with both hands;
after which, with no difficulty beyond the temporary
delay caused by Elijah Weeley's mistaken attempt to
haul himself aboard by Joe's leg, the journey began.

Of the events of that journey, the " faites and
gestes " of Joe and Elijah at Rochford Market,
who shall tell ? Pass rather to the return of Abel
Pennyfather, light laden and heedless, driving his
white mare as of old drove the son of Jehoshaphat,
the son of Nimshi, pounding the road to Hadleigh
in the cool of the evening, and destined to make
near such a stir at the Castle Inn as did his fore-
runner at Jezreel. For at that same Castle Inn he
descended from his perch, dropped the tailboard,
and proceeded in due order to tug at the two
sleeping figures within. With the natural protest
of grunts and gasps the sleepers presently emerged,
and were presented erect to society — in the persons
of Reuben Turner and young Sim Cloyse.

" What's this ? " cried Abel Pennyfather, staring

GREEN GINGER

aghast. " 'Tis'witchcraft, an' nothin' else ! They
was Joe Barstow an' 'Lijah Weeley when they
got in ; an' that I'll swear 'pon oath ! "

Friends gathered to inspect the phenomenon,
and agreed that Reuben Turner and Sim Cloyse
were certainly Reuben and Sim now, whoever
they may have been earlier in the day. And,
although Abel protested with increasing vehemence
that they were indisputably Joe and Elijah when
he put them in the cart at Rochford, Reuben and
Sim declared, with equal confidence, that they had
never been anybody but themselves all day.
Wherein the neighbours were disposed to agree
with them, arguing that a man who had been
some one else would probably be the first to know
it and the last to be mistaken about it. But the
greater the majority against him the more positive
Abel Pennyfather grew ; and the discussion waxed
prodigiously for a time, till there arrived Jobson
of Wickford, very angry, and many miles out
of his way home, driving his own horse in the
shafts of Abel Pennyfather's cart, with Joe Barstow
and Elijah Weeley in it ; neither of them, strictly
speaking, awake, after the fatigues of the day.

" Couldn't you see they'd putt the 'osses to
the wrong carts ? " shouted Jobson to the amazed
Pennyfather. " I've a-been chasing yovv arl the
way from Rochford ! "

100

THE COPPER CHARM

" Glory be ! " gasped Abel, " an' so they hev !
Now that comes o' standin' they two carts side
by side on sich a troublesome confusin' day. I
putt them chaps in behind in my cart and I
walked round they two carts twice, careful and
absent-minded as I be, afore I stopped agin my
oad white mare. ' Come up, oad gal,' says I, an'
I took the reins off her an' got up an' druv home
without another thought."

" No," retorted Jobson of Wickford, still very
angry. " I count a thought ain't a treat you
often hev. Can't you help with the harness now
I hev found 'ee ? "

But the most of the intelligence present was
in a state of suspension, not to say paralysis, in
face of the novelty of the adventure ; soaring,
at any rate, in regions far from any matter of
Jobson's harness. The one or two most dis-
tinguished for presence of mind were turning
their faculties toward the rousing and hauling
forth of Joe Barstow and Elijah Weeley, when
another object was perceived in the cart.

" Why," said one, " here be a gallon jar. Is
it yourn. Master Jobson ? "

" No," snapped Jobson, wrenching at a buckle,
" 'taren't. More mistakes, I count — I've a-been
cartin' a wuthless load as don't belong to me."

u Is't yours, Abel ? " pursued the inquirer.
IOI

GREEN GINGER

" No, that it ben't," replied Abel Pennyfather,
not yet capable of sagacious reflection. It was
an answer which he never ceased to regret for
the rest of his life ; for as Joe and Elijah rose,
cramped and blinking, Dan Fisk, having removed
the cork and temporarily substituted his nose,
cried aloud : " Why, 'tis rum, sure/y / "

At the words Joe Barstow and Elijah Weeley
were suddenly wide awake, ready, prudent, and
unanimous. A hand of each fell simultaneously
on the jar as Dan restored the cork, and the vessel
was drawn to a loving embrace between them. It
was a touching action, and signified to the dullest in-
telligence that the gallon jar was homeless no longer.

" Thank 'ee, Joe," said Elijah, " I'll take that
jar now."

" Never mind," replied Joe ; " I count I can
carry it myself."

" I wouldn't dream of it," protested Elijah,
politely. " My house is only jist round the
corner."

" I ain't goin' there," retorted Joe, not so
politely.

" No need, me bein' goin' to take it myself."

" Take what yourself ? "

" My rum."

" Tour rum ? Oh, well, you can take it where
you like, any as you've got. This here's mine,"

102

THE COPPER CHARM

" Yours ? Why, Joe Barstow, you ben't awake
yet ; you're dreaming."

" I count I'm awake enough to know my own
property. You let go."

" 'Taren't likely I'd make a mistake about
my own freehold jar o' rum, is it, neighbours ? "
protested Elijah, maintaining his grip. {< Joe,
you're dreaming, I tell 'ee."

'clf I'm a-dreamin'," retorted Joe, doggedly,
" then I'm a-dreamin' this 'ere's my jar, an' the
dream's comin' true. An' if a man haven't a
right to the furnitude of his own dreams, who
hev, eh ? That's law and logic too, I count."

" If you come to speak of the law," interposed
Abel Pennyfather, hoping to repair his early
error, " the jar bein' found in my cart, an' me
that absent-minded, I'm none so sure "

" No, you ain't," interrupted Joe, promptly ;
" but I am. Elijah an' me both know better than
that. His mistake's sayin' it's his, an' not knowin'
where he bought it ! "

" Bought it ? " repeated Elijah, plainly a little
startled. " Who says I dunno where I bought it ?
I bought it — I bought it — " — he glanced wildly
about him for a moment — " bought it at the
Red Cow."

" You may have bought a gallon o' rum at
the Red Cow. I ain't denyin' it — you look as

103

GREEN GINGER

though you had, I count ; but you den't bring
it home in this here jar. I got this — got this
here — got it from a friend — off the price of a pig
he owed me for."

And now Dan Fisk interposed, as sportsman
and humorist, watchful to allow no fun to
evaporate unprofitably, and eager to tend, stimu-
late, and inflame it and to improve its flavour.
So, with his beaming red face and his coruscating
squint, he faced each disputant in turn, re-
presenting the scandal of a public row, and the
advantages of a private investigation by friends
of both parties in the Castle Inn parlour.

Whereupon Joe and Elijah, with the jar of
rum between them and dividing them, physically
and morally, Abel Pennyfather and Jobson of
Wickford, Dan Fisk, and several more, turned
into the Castle parlour, where Dan Fisk opened
proceedings by snatching the jar and standing it
in the middle of the table.

" There be the article in dispute," he pro-
claimed, " and here be we all a-gathered round
it to see fair. Joe Barstow an' 'Lijah Weeley
be the disputatious claimants, an' to one o' they
two 'tis alleged that jar belongs."

" Hem ! " coughed Pennyfather, tentatively.
" 'Twould seem so, at fust sight, as you might

say ; though bein' found in my cart, an' me -"

104

THE COPPER CHARM

" Joe Barstow and 'Lijah Weeley be the
candidates," proceeded Dan, ignoring Abel, " both
on 'em havin' bought this here jar o' rum, as
they distinctly tell us 'emselves, or as distinctly
as sarcumstances allow. 'Lijah Weeley, he bought
it off a red cow, and Joe Barstow, he took it
off a friendly pig."

"Took it off a friend," grunted Joe, doggedly
suspicious.

" The pig were a friend o' Joe's," pursued Dan,
'c an' as to the red cow, no doubt "

" I said at the Red Cow," interrupted Elijah,
sulkily—" Red Cow Inn."

" O-ho ! " exclaimed Dan, turning on him
suddenly, " that be't, eh ? Red Cow Inn ? An'
where be the Red Cow Inn at Rochford, eh ? "

" Eh ? Rochford ? "

"Ah, I don't call to mind any Red Cow at
Rochford. What Red Cow ? "

Elijah Weeley stared blankly. " Maybe I'm
thinkin' o' somewhere else," he said, rubbing
his ear with his palm. " There's a Red Cow at
Burnham, sure/y."

" Ah, but you haven't been near Burnham,
to-day, you know. I'm beginning to doubt your
remembrance o' that rum."

" 'Taren't his, I tell 'ee," growled Joe Barstow.
" I took it off a friend for a pig."

105

GREEN GINGER

" Tell us the friend's name ! " cried Dan,
pouncing on Joe with a raised forefinger. " Out
with his name — quick ! "

Joe stared as blankly as Elijah. "Him ? " he
said slowly. " Oh — that there chap — you know ;
the one as — well, maybe not him, exactly, so to
say, but a relation of his. That's the chap."

<c O' course that's the chap — I've been a-thinkin'
o' that chap, myself," Dan pursued, with a
wider grin. " But \yhat's his name ? These
here genelmen o' the jury are that unfriendly
suspicious, they won't swallow the pig story
wi'out the chap's name. What is it? "

Joe Barstow stared and sweated in an agony of
mental travail. " Bill ! " he burst out at length.

" His name's Bill," repeated Dan, solemnly,
turning to the company with an airy gesture and
a bow of the gravest importance. " Joe's friend
be the celebrated person o' the name o' Bill. A
party with sich a name as that wouldn't bother
to hev another, I suppose, Joe, would he ? "

u I dunno," said Joe, sulkily. " That jar's
mine, howsomdever ; I do remember that."

" 'Tis a comfort to know it, for a good
memory's a great blessin'. Havin' that partikler
blessin' by you, no doubt you remember the pig's
birthday ? Because 'tis the recollection o' this
here honourable jury that your last latter o' pigs
were all sold to Sam Prentice here in Hadleigh."

1 06

THE COPPER CHARM

" That jar o' rum's mine, I tell 'ee," repeated
Joe, fiercely dogged.

" An' you aren't no more sartin about the
pig than 'Lijah Weeley about the cow ? "

" I'm sartin' 'tis my rum," growled Joe. And
Elijah Weeley, gathering courage, broke in again.

"Touchin' the Red Cow," he said, "that be
a pardonable mistake anybody might make, fair
day an' all, after a nap. An' now 'tis brought to
my mind there was a pig in the business, but
'twere a pig / bought at Rochford market this very
day. An' howsomdever it came about bein' hard
to explain at sich short notice, 'taren't no mistake
when I say, in round numbers, that rum's mine."

" S'posin' that's so," queried Dan, " how would
you treat all your friends here in regard to that
rum ? "

Elijah Weeley glanced at the crowd about him
with some uneasiness. " Oh ! " he said airily,
" I'd give a friend a glass, o' course."

" I'd give all my friends two glasses," exclaimed
Joe, bidding like a politician, but with the wildest
miscalculation of the jar's capacity.

"Well, well," said Elijah. "When I said a
glass I was a-puttin' of it figurative, as you might
say. I'd do the han'some thing, sure/y."

" Then this here trouble's settled," proclaimed
Dan Fisk. " Takin' it as the jar belongs to either

107

GREEN GINGER

one o' you, and you're both ekally horspitable —
well, here's all your mutual friends, an' we've on'y
got to order in the glasses and the water, an' the
dispute passes away harmonious along o' the rum."

The rivals received this amiable proposal with
uneasy indignation, and joined forces against it
instantly.

" Certainly not ! " said Elijah.

" Not me ! " said Joe.

" Why not ? " demanded Dan.

" 'Twouldn't be proper," said Elijah.

" Course not," agreed Joe.

" If I stood drinks out o' my jar," explained
Elijah, " Joe Barstow 'ud go an' say it was his
treat."

"An* if I treated my friends out o' my jar,"
pursued Joe, " "Lijah Weeley 'ud go arl over
Essex a-bragging as he'd stood drinks round — a
thing he never did in his life."

With that the poceedings fell into riotous con-
fusion and a conflict of a hundred suggestions,
from which in a little while Dan Fisk once more
emerged triumphant.

" There's nothin' for it, neighbours," he
announced, " but Cunning Murrell. Cunning
Murrell an' his copper charm'll settle this. No-
body here can tell whether Joe or 'Lijah is tellin'
truth, least of all Joe and 'Lijah 'emselves, after

108

THE COPPER CHARM

such a busy fair-day. We'll take 'em now to
look at Master Murrell's copper charm, an' see
which be the truth-teller."

The suggestion was received with general
favour, except, oddly enough, by the claimants
themselves, who began, with uneasy alarm and
much labour, to invent the beginnings of objec-
tions and excuses. But they and their objections
were swept away together by the enthusiasm of
the majority, who — feeling by now some pro-
prietary interest in the rum — were quite willing
to add the further interest of a performance of
Murrell's necromancy, at no expense to them-
selves. Wherefore, the whole company, with
Dan Fisk and the jar at their head, emerged into
the street, now dark, and turned into the lane
where stood Cunning Murrell's cottage.

The way was short — eighty yards, perhaps —
though long enough to produce a change in the
demeanour of the company, which, starting
hilarious, tailed out and quieted, and at last halted
before Murrell's door in respectful silence. For
that was the manner of all toward the witch-finder,
and indeed a large part of the grin had vanished
even from Dan Fisk's face as he clicked the latch.

Murrell himself opened the door, and stood,
small and grey and severe, on the threshold,
demanding the meaning of the visit. The little

109

GREEN GINGER

room behind him, lighted by a solitary candle
and hung thick with bunches of dried herbs, was a
fitting background — the most mysterious chamber
in the little world of South Essex.

Dan Fisk posed the jar on his knee and ex-
plained the dispute, though now with something
short of his native facetiousness.

Cunning Murrell heard him through, and then
said sharply : " So now you come to ask o' my
curis arts which o' they men be sayin' truth ?
With a copper charm you hear of? "

" Aye, Master Murrell, sir ; as 'tis said, sir."

The old man gazed for a moment hard and
sharp in Dan Fisk's face. Then he said : " Come
you two in," and turned into the room.

There was a scuffling of feet, and Murrell
turned again. " Not all o' that rabble," he said.
" 'Tis Joe Barstow an' Elijah Weeley I want, an'
Dan Fisk. Give me that jar."

Joe and Elijah lumbered sheepishly in, each
propelled by a hand of Dan. Cunning Murrell
took something from a drawer in a dark corner,
and, without looking at it, extended it behind him
as he shut the drawer.

*' Take you the charm first, Elijah Weeley,"
he said. " Take it in your hand an' carry it to
the light."

Elijah took a small disc of copper, convex on
no

THE COPPER CHARM

its brighter side, and held it near the candle on
the mantelpiece. Murrell stood apart, gazing on
the floor, with his hand across his forehead.

" Look you on the metal very close, Elijah
Weeley," he said. u D'ye see anything ? "

u Oh, aye, yes, Master Murrell, sir," answered
Elijah, his face within an inch of the object, and
his eyes protruding half the distance. " Aye,
Master Murrell. Stands to reason I can see it —
'tis natural I should."

" And why natural ? "

" Why, Master Murrell ? Why, 'cos 'tis my
rum, you see."

" Oh, that be your reason, eh ? Well, an'
what is't you see ? "

" What is't, Master Murrell, sir ? "

"Aye, what is it?"

" Oh, it's a — a — what you might call a sort o'
peculiar kind o' thing, so to say. Very peculiar."

"Ah, I make no doubt o' that," the old
man replied, with ungenial tone. " Describe that
peculiar thing, Elijah Weeley," he added, still
gazing on the floor.

" That, sir — that, Master Murrell, is easier
said than done, as you might say, not meanin'
no harm, sir. But stands to reason I can see it,
Master Murrell, consekens 'o that bein' my rum.
That's argyment, now, ain't it ? "

GREEN GINGER

" Aye, 'tis argyment, but not information. If
you can see it, Elijah Weeley, tell me what 'tis
you see. Is it like a horse, for instance ? "

"Well, sir, as to that, Master Murrell, 'tis
most likely you'd be right, sir, ben't it ? "

"Aye, it is, Elijah Weeley. Go on."

" Why, sir, that bein' so, sir, Master Murrell,
sir, you be right, an' most wonderful scientific,
sartin to say, an' now I come to look at it 'tis most
powerful like a hoss — quite wonderful ; more
like than most real hosses, as you might say."

" Wonderful ! Elijah Weeley — wonderful ! Give
Joe Barstow the charm. Can you see a hoss,
Joe Barstow ? "

<c Aye, yes, Master Murrell, sartenly," answered
that politician eagerly, almost before he had
snatched the charm. " Two on 'em ! " he pro-
ceeded, bidding higher again. " Two on 'em,
with saddles ! "

" With saddles?" exclaimed Murrell, raising
his eyes and reaching Joe in a stride. " Saddles ?
What's this you're looking at, Joe Barstow ? "

" Lookin' at ? Why, the charm, Master
Murrell, sir ! The charm ! "

" The charm ? That ? Why, 'tis the lid o'
my darter's copper kettle, put by for a new rim
an' handle ! I must ha' took it by mistake.
An' you saw hosses in it ! Two hosses with

112

THE COPPER CHARM

saddles ! 'Twould seem to me this here kettle
lid be as good a charm as any with the likes o'
you, Joe Barstow an' Elijah Weeley. It tell plain
enough that you be liars both ! An' 'tis a kettle-
lid ! Hosses and saddles ! Oh, 'tis shameful to
reflect on the depravity of the age ! To think
that two grown men should walk about the face
of this earth with lies that any kettle-lid can
contradict ! "

Terrible in his righteous wrath, the old man
shook his head in the cowed faces of Joe and
Elijah, seized the jar of rum, pushed it into a
cupboard, and locked the door on it.

" After what I've lamed of you, I misdoubt
much how you came by that jar," he said, " an'
'twould be abettin' your wickedness to let it out
o' my charge ; an' so I do my duty, in face o'
the wickedness o' these times. Take them two
out with you, Dan Fisk ; I want no such
characters as them in my house ! "

This was certainly the last occasion on which
anybody had the temerity to inquire for the
copper charm. And it was months ere the jar
was seen again ; when it was observed to be a jar
of rum no longer ; for Cunning Murrell was using
it to carry horse medicine, a thing in which he
drove a thriving trade.

Dobbs's Parrot

DILL WRAGG, dealer in dogs, birds, and
*-^ guinea-pigs, began business in the parrot
line, with a capital of nothing and no parrots.
The old rascal hinted so much when I got from
him the tale of his champion terrier, Rhymer
the Second, which you may read elsewhere.
But I observed for long a certain reluctance
to talk with any particularity of this affair of
parrot-dealing. From this I judged that it
must have been a transaction of uncommon —
well, say acumen — even for Bill Wragg ; and
so I found it, when at last he made his
confession.

(< Beginnin' business without capital," said
Bill Wragg, wiping his pipe with a red-spotted
handkerchief, " is all a matter o' credit, o'
course. Lots o' people begin on credit, an'
do very well ; an' different people get their
credit different ways. I begun on credit, an' I
got my credit from perfick strangers, quite easy.

*' I was frightful 'ard up, just then — stony-
114

DOBBS'S PARROT

broke, in fact. I'd been lookin' out for odd jobs
'ere an' there, an' gettin' precious few of 'em.
Last job I'd had was down Wappin' way, givin' a
hand at a foreign animal shop, where the reg'lar
chap was away ill. The guv'nor, he give me a
suit o' clothes to begin with, 'cause he said mine
'ud disgrace the shop, an' so they would. The
new clothes wasn't new altogether — a sailor-bloke
had died in 'em a fortnight afore, at a crimp's ;
but they was all right, an' I took it mighty generous
o' the guv'nor, till the end o' the week, an' then
e' stopped 'em out 'o my wages. Well, I'd been
gone away from that job a long time, an' there
didn't seem another job to be had ; so, bein' stony-
broke, as I just said, I thought I might as well
set up for myself.

c' It was the clothes that give me the idea to
begin with — them bein' of a seafarin' sort ; just
the sort o' things a man might wear as was
bringin' 'ome a parrot. An' what put the idea
into movin' shape was me passin' a little coal-
office — one o' them little shanties where a clerk
sits all day to take orders. I knew that place,
consequence of a friend o' mine 'avin' done a
little business there about a dawg with the clerk ;
it was a careless bit o' business as might ha'
got my friend in trouble, if the clerk 'adn't gone
an' died almost at once. Well, this clerk's name

GREEN GINGER

was Dobbs, an' rememberm' that, I thought I
see my way to raisin' a bit o' credit.

" I just went into the office all gay an' friendly,
an' * Good arternoon,' I says to the noo clerk.
* Good arternoon. Is Mr. Dobbs in ? "

" * No,' says he, * Mr. Dobbs is dead. Been
dead six months.'

"'Dead*' says I. 'What? Dead ? My
dear ol' pal Dobbs ? No, it can't be true,'
I says.

** * It is true,' says the chap. * Anyway, I
see the funeral, an' I've got his job.'

" ' Well now,' I says, ' whoever'd a' believed
it ? Poor ol' Dobbs ! When I went on my
last voyage I left him as well an' 'arty as ever
I see anybody ! This is a awful shock for
me,' I says.

" The clerk was rather a dull-lookin' sort
o' chap, with giglamps, an' he just nodded
his head.

" ' Quite a awful shock,' I says. l Why, I
brought 'ome a parrot for 'im ! A lovely
parrot — talks like a — like a angel, an' whistles
any toon you like. I come here to see him about
it ! It's a awful shock.'

" ' Yes,' says Giglamps, ' it was rather sudden.'

" * Sudden ain't the word,' I says ; ' it's
positive catastrophageous. An' what am I to

116

DOBBS'S PARROT

do with that beautiful parrot ? I can't take
it away with me ; the new skipper wouldn't stand
it — 'e's a terror. Besides I couldn't bear to be
reminded of poor ol' Dobbs every time I see
'is lovely ploomage or 'card 'im talk — talks just
like Dan Leno, does that bird. What am I
to do with it ? I'm a lonely sort o' chap, an'
haven't got a soul in the world to give it to,
now poor old Dobbs is gone. If I only knowed
a nice kind 'ome for it, I'd — but hold on,' I
says, all of a sudden, ( how about you ? Will
you have it ? Eh ? I don't believe youd treat
such a 'andsome bird unkind, would you ?
I'll give 'im to you, an' welcome, if you'll take
care of 'im. 'E's a valuable bird, too, but o'
course I don't want to make money out of 'im.
Come, you shall have him ! '

u I could see old Giglamps was gettin' in-
terested, thinkin' he was in for a 'andsome
present. ' Hem ! ' he says, * it's very kind of
you, an' of course I'll have the bird with pleasure,
an' take every care of him ; very kind of you
indeed, I'm sure it is.'

" * That's all right,' I says, * it's nothing to
me, so long as pore Peter gets a good 'ome.
Peter's his name,' I says. * I'll go an' fetch him
along 'ere. Got a cage ? '

" c Why no,' says he, ' I ain't got a cage.'
117

GREEN GINGER

" ' Must 'ave a cage,' says I. ' The one he's
in now don't belong to me. Must 'ave a cage.
What are you going to do about it ? '

" ' I dunno,' says Giglamps, lookin' 'elpless.

." * A good parrot cage comes a bit dear, to
buy new,' I says. ' But there's a fine second-
hand one you might get cheap just over in
Wai worth. I'll mind the office while you go.'

" * No,' he says, ' I can't leave the place.' Or
course I knowed that well enough — it was part
o' the game. ' I can't leave the place,' says he.
' I s'pose you couldn't see about it ? '

'"Well,' says I, thoughtful like, ' I'm a
bit busy, but p'raps I might. It's a fine cage,
an' worth a price ; but, properly managed, I
might try and get it for five bob, though I
expect it'll be more. Anyhow,' I says, { give
me the five bob, an' if I have to pay any more
I'll trust you for it till I come back.'

" So I just puts out my hand casual, and in
drops the five bob. So I went out that much to
the good in credit."

Here 1 fear I exhibited something positively
like a grin. " Credit or cash ? " I queried.

" Credit, I said, sir," Bill replied, virtu-
ously. u Cash an' credit's the same thing with
a man o' business like me. I went out with
that five bob, an' I put in threepence of it

II*

DOBBS'S PARROT

for a small drink that I wanted very bad arter
bein' without so long. I had my drink, an' I
thought things over, an' I made up my mind
that ten bob was just twice as useful as five
to start business with, and there was just such
another office of the same coal company only
a penny tram ride off, that might be good for
another crown. So I took that penny tram ride,
and found the other office. It was a much
smarter, brisker lookin' chap at this place, I
found ; but I went at him the same way — askin'
for Dobbs.

" * Dobbs ? ' says the new chap. f No ; he
used to be up at the next office along the road
there, but he's dead now.'

" ' Dead ? ' says I. « What, my old pal Dobbs ? '
And I did it all over again for the new chap.
I think the trouble was worth the money and
more, but a man mustn't be afraid o' work when
he's beginnin' business with no capital. So
I did it all again very careful, an' when I came
to ofFerin' him the parrot he was ready enough.

" ' Why, rather,' he says, * I'll have him. I'm
very fond o' birds. A parrot's just what I want.'

" t All right,' says I, ' you shall have him
an' welcome. I'll fetch him along here.' So
I starts round to go, and pitches back the old
question from the door. ' Got a cage ? ' says I.

119

GREEN GINGER

" This time I got a bit of a surprise. ' Cage ? '
says he ; 'oh yes — I've got a cage — got a stunner
that belonged to my aunt. A parrot's just what
I wanted to put in it. Here it is.'

" An' he went into the little cubby-hole at the
back an' dragged out a fust-rate brass cage as
good as new. It wasn't what I'd expected, a
coincidence like that, but it don't do to be took
aback at little changes o' luck. * All right,' says
I, < that'll do.' An' I laid 'old o' the cage an'
slung out with it.

" Some chaps mightn't have the presence o'
mind for that, havin' only the five bob in their
minds, but a man o' business is got to be ekal
to anything as comes along, an' this 'ere cage
was worth a sight more'n the five bob, anyhow.
So there I was, a business man at large, with
the rest o' five bob an' a fust-class brass parrot-
cage, on credit, to begin business with.

" Well, the best parrot-cage in the world ain't
complete without a parrot, so I see very well
that the next move ought to be towards a bird
o' that specie. I brought to mind a very nice
one I'd often seen in a quiet road not very
many streets away, one as belonged to a nice
old lady, in a very nice 'ouse with a garden
round it. I'd seen that parrot stood outside for
an airin' o' fine afternoons, an' I hurried up now

[20

DOBBS'S PARROT

to eet there before it was took in. You see

the old gal hadn't got anything like so fine a
cage as this brass one, an' I'd an idea her parrot
an' my cage 'ud go together well. But it all
depended, you see, on the old lady bein' in sight
or not, whether my cage went outside 'er parrot
— at a price — or 'er parrot went inside my cage,
for nothin'. There'd be more business in the
last arrangement, o' course, but you have to
take the best you can get in these 'ard times.

" I hurried up, an' when I came to the place
I see the parrot there all right, standin' outside
on a garden chair. I just strolled in an' up the
gravel path swinging the brass cage on my finger
an' lookin' round for the old lady. I couldn't
see her nor anybody else, so I went up to the
parrot an' had a look at him. He was a fine
'andsome bird, an' the cage he had wasn't good
enough for him, by a lot. It was just an ornery
sort o' iron wire cage, half wore out, an' the
fastenin' was pretty nigh droppin' off with rust.
It was plain enough it was my cage that bird
ought to be in, not a wore-out old thing like
the one he'd got. I had a look round to make
sure nobody was about, an' then I took 'old o'
that rusty old catch an' it came open afore I
could ha' winked."

" Surprising ! " I interjected. " And then I
121

GREEN GINGER

suppose the parrot flew straight into the brass
cage ? "

" No, sir," Bill Wragg answered calmly, " you're
s'posin' wrong. That wouldn't be a likely thing
for it to do. I might ha' made it a bit more
likely by shovin' the open door o' one cage agin
the other, but that would ha' looked suspicious,
an' I wasn't quite sure that somebody mightn't
be a-peepin' from somewhere. Why, they might
ha' thought I wanted to steal the bird ! You'd
scarcely believe 'ow suspicious people are. As it
was, you see, it was nothin' but a accident as
might have occurred to anybody. I was just
bringing in a nice cage to sell, an' havin' a
look at the old 'un while I was lookin' about
for the lady."

" Yes, of course," I said, very solemnly. " Of
course."

" Well, sir, you'd hardly believe it, but that
parrot no sooner found the door open than he
flew out. Nothin' to do with me, o' course, but
he did fly out, an' quite properly I went arter
him. I'd been the cause o1 the accident, you see,
in a sort of indireck way, so I thought I ought
to do what I could to catch the bird — only fair
an' proper. He flew out over the railings an'
down the road, an' I went out the gate an'
trotted down the road after him. He 'lighted

122

DOBBS'S PARROT

fust on a tree at the corner, so 1 let fly a
stone an' started him ofF o' that, an' away he
went down the side street an' along another
turnin'.

"After that it was plain sailin' — all but the
actual ketchin' of 'im. You can pretty easy
keep a parrot in sight — he takes a rest some-
where every fifty yards or so. Nobody hadn't
noticed in the quiet streets, but as soon as we
got out a bit into the traffic the crowd got
bigger every second, all huntin' the parrot, an'
all ready to give 'im to me as soon as he was
caught. 'Cause why ? I dunno. I was just
a-runnin' after him with a open cage in my
hand, that's all. / never said he was my parrot.
But everybody else kep' sayin' he was, an' it's
a waste o' time to start contradictin' a crowd.
So I kep' well up in the mob, an' kep' a look-
out in case the old lady should turn up, or
one o' them coal-office clerks. The crowd kep'
gettin' bigger an' bigger, an' I got to be sich
a celebrated an' conspickuous character I began
to feel a bit uncomfortable about it. You
wouldn't think there was such a lot o' fools
about, ready to come crowdin' up an' shoutin'
an* rousin' up the parish, just because of a parrot
gettin' loose. O' course, I expected there'd be
a bit of a crowd, but I hadn't looked for quite

123

GREEN GINGER

sich a row as this, an' I didn't want it, neither.
' There 'e is — that's 'im ! ' they was a-sayin'.
' That sea-farin' lookin' bloke with the empty
cage ; Vs lost 'is parrot.' Celebrity an' fame's
all very well in its place, but a man o' business,
settin' up for 'isself on credit, like me, don't
want too much of it at once. An' the wust
of it was, that there rediklus parrot was a-workin'
'is way nearer an' nearer the main road, with the
tram-lines on it an' them coal-offices one at
each end, an' the 'ole neighbourhood turnin'
out as we went along.

" But nothin' lasts for ever, an' in the end
he 'lighted on the sill of a attic winder at a
corner 'ouse o' the main road, an' a slavey that
was in the attic, she claps a towel over him an'
stands there screamin' at the winder for fear he
might peck through the towel.

" ' All right, miss,' 1 sings out ; c 'old tight !
He won't bite ! I'm a-comin'.'

" So they lets me in the front door, civil as
butter, an' I goes up to the attic, an' in about
half a quarter of a minute pretty Polly was
inside the brass cage, as 'andsome an' suitable
as you please. I told the slavey she was the
smartest an' prettiest gal I'd seen since fust I
went a-sailin' on the stormy ocean, an' 'ow I
wished I was a bit younger an' 'andsomer myself,

124

DOBBS'S PARROT

for 'er sake, so it didn't cost me nothin' ; which
was a bit o' luck, for I'd been countin' on havin'
to fork out a bob to somebody for collarin' that
bird.

" Well, the crowd began to melt a bit when
I came out, the excitement bein' over, but I
didn't like the look o' things much, so I made
up my mind I'd get the job over as soon as
I could. I didn't know when the old lady might
turn up, an' though o' course I was only tryin'
to ketch her parrot for her, what had got out
accidental, things might 'a' looked suspicious.
Not but what o' course anybody could see
that if I'd been a thief I'd 'a' walked off with
the bird an' cage an' all to begin with. A proper
man o' business allus arranges things like that,
for fear of accidents. Men o' business as ain't
clever enough to manage it is nothin' but
dishonest persons, an' liable to be took up.

u There was a fine big pub across the road,
at a corner a little farther down — sich a fine
pub that it was an hotel, with a proper hotel
entrance at one side, with plants in tubs an' red
carpets. It looked a sort o' place that could
afford a price, so I went in — not the hotel
entrance, but just the other side, where there
was a choice of three or four bar compartments.
I went in the private bar, an' got on to the

125

GREEN GINGER

landlord straight away as soon as I'd ordered a
drink.

" ' I wanted that drink,' I says, ' arter the
chase I've 'ad for this parrot. Not but what he
ain't worth it — I don't b'lieve you could match
a parrot like that, not in the Z'logical Gardens.
I meant him for my dear ol' pal Dobbs at the
coal office along the road, as you might ha' known
afore he died. When I 'card the sad news, I
thought I'd take 'im up to Leaden'all Market
an' sell 'im ; 'e's worth ten quid of anybody's
money, is that bird, an' the cage 'ud be cheap
at a couple. But I managed to let him loose —
my fault, through fiddlin' with the catch o' the
cage door. An' 'e's led me such a dance it'll
be too late for me to git up to the market now.'

" The parrot had been a-straightenin' of his
feathers out an' makin' himself tidy arter the
scramble, an' just at this very moment he gives
a sort o' little grumble to himself an' then raps
out : < Pretty Poll ! Hullo ! Shut up ! '

" < Hear him talk ! ' I says. * He'll go on
like that all day, an' say anything you please.
What an ornament he'd be to this 'andsome bar
o' yours ! People'd come a-purpose to see him.
Come,' I says, ' You shall have him for five
pound, cage an' all ! How's that ? ' says I.

" Well, the landlord seemed quite on to buy
126

DOBBS'S PARROT

him, though o' course he wouldn't do it without
a haggle — 'twasn't likely. But arter a bit we
settled it at three quid, an' he handed over the
jemmies. An' cheap it was, too. So he stood
the cage up on the top o' where a partition
joined the bar-screen, where everybody could see
him, an' said he'd have a proper shelf made for
him to-morrow. I didn't hang about much arter
that, you may guess. But as soon as I got
into the street, who should I see but the clerk
from the coal office, the one that had sprung
the five bob, talking to a chap as was pointin'
to the pub. Of course, the first thing I thought
of was a bolt, but afore I could make up my
mind he caught sight o' me. So up I went as
bold as brass.

" f Hullo,' says I, ' that there parrot o' yours
is led me a pretty dance. Got out o' the cage
an' kep' me all the afternoon chasin' him.'

" ' Yes/ says old Giglamps, ' I wondered where
you'd got to, but when I shut the office I heard
about a parrot bein' loose, an' that man told
me you'd brought it in here.'

" ' Quite right,' says I, ( an' so I did. Come
in yourself, an' see it. But the cage ain't settled
for yet,' I says, * an' it'll cost you five bob more at
least ; though the chap's askin' even more'n that.'

u So I led him into the compartment on one
127

GREEN GINGER

side o' the partition, an' showed him the bird in
the cage.

" ' What are you goin' to stand ? ' says I.
* You can see what sort of a cage it is — two
quid's nearer its real price than ten bob.'

" Old Giglamps calls for whisky an' soda for
two, an* says * Pretty Polly ' to the bird, same
as what any customer might do, an' then he hands
me over another five bob.

" ' I think he'll take ten bob,' says I, ' an' I'll
just run round an' see, if you'll wait here.'

" I was in an extra hurry, you see, for very
good reason. He was sittin' down, but I was
standin' up an' keepin' a weather eye on the
street outside ; an' there who should I see, starin'
up at the pub front, but the clerk from the other
coal office ! What ho, thinks I, this tale o' the
parrot hunt's got about an' things is warmin'
up ! So I skips out quick, an' ketches the chap
by the arm.

c< * Hullo ! ' says he, * what about that parrot ? '

" ' Ain't you heard ? ' says I. ' He got out
o' the cage an' led me no end of a dance. But
he's all right,' I says, an' I led the chap off to
another compartment away from his pal.

" { I did hear about it,' says he, ' an' that's
why I came here. I began to wonder where
you'd got to.'

128

DOBBS'S PARROT

" ' All right,' says I, f he's safe enough — I
left him in charge of the landlord, an' I was a-
comin' along arter you, 'cos I wanted to tell you
something private. The fact is,' I says, whisperin'
in his ear, * the landlord's took a great fancy
to that parrot. He's fair mad on it. O' course
the parrot's yours, an' you can sell it or not,
just as you please. But if you do sell it, don't
take less than ten pound, an' if you get ten pound
—well, I think I ought to have a quid or two
out of it, oughtn't I, seein' as I give you the
bird ? That's fair, ain't it ? ' says I.

" ' Yes,' says he, c that's all right. If I get a
tenner for it, I'll see you afterwards.'

" ' All right,' says I. c You come in an' sit
down, an' don't say nothing about it. You
mustn't seem anxious to sell. I told the landlord
I was goin' to see the owner, an' I'll go round
the back way an' talk him confidential into givin'
a good price. You lie low till I give you the
tip.'

"So he goes in an' sees his cage there all
safe with the parrot in it, an' he orders his drink
an' sits down quiet. I thought o' rushin' round
into the private bar an' tellin' the landlord he
was a chap comin' to offer a price for the bird,
just to mix things up a bit while I got away.
But when I got outside there was another surprise,

129 K

GREEN GINGER

s'elp me. It was just gettin' dusk, and there
was the poor old lady as had lost her parrot,
with a handkerchief over her head an' the cage
in 'er 'and, comin' down the road disconsolate,
lookin' up at the houses after her bird !

" When you've got a run o' luck, follow it
up. That's my motto. It was a bit of a risk,
but I skipped across the road an' said : * Beg
pardon, mum, but was you a lookin' for a parrot ? '

u ' Oh, yes,' she says. ' Have you seen it ?
If you'll only help me find my poor bird, I'll
be so grateful ! I didn't know he'd got out till
I went to bring the cage in. Several people told
me he'd come along this road an' been caught,'
says she. ' Is that true ? Do you know who's
got him ? '

" * Yes mum,' says I, ' I can put you on the
track at once. Your parrot's in that public 'ouse
opposite, havin' been took there by the man as
caught it. I'll see about it for you, mum,' I
says. l You come across an' sit down in the
hotel entrance, mum. It's quite respectable there,
mum. The man what's got it is a low sort o'
chap, mum — a coalheaver, name o' Dobbs, a-
sittin' in the jug department. You can see your
bird from the hotel entrance, mum, stood up on
a partition. O' course a rough feller like that
Dobbs wouldn't be allowed in the hotel entrance,

130

DOBBS'S PARROT

an' a lady like you couldn't go into the jug
department. /'// see about it. I expect he'll
cut up rough an' want to claim the bird, mum,
but /'// see you get your rights, mum ! '

u ' Oh, thank you,' says the old gal, c I shall
be so grateful if you will ! I've been so distressed
at the idea of losin' my dear Polly ! If you
will get him back, I'll be most grateful- Of course,
I'll pay a reward.'

" * Jesso, mum,' I says, 'jesso. But not more'n
half a sovereign. I'll see you ain't swindled,
mum,' I says. * That chap Dobbs 'ud be ex-
tortionate, but not a farden more'n half a sovereign,
mum,' says I, * if you'll allow me to advise you.
I'll see to it for you, mum. You just sit down
in the hotel entrance, mum, an' give me the
half-sovereign, an' I'll talk to him firm — firm.
It's the only way, with these low characters. I'll
talk to him firm, an' mention the p'lice. /'// see
about it for you, mum ! '

" So I sits the old gal down with her birdcage
on the settee in the hotel entrance, takes her
half-quid, an' — well, I left 'er there an' hooked
it round the first turnin' an' travelled straight
ahead, fast, for the next half-hour.

"That made near four quid altogether, raised
on credit. In my business a chap as can't start
very well on four quid ain't fit to start at all,

GREEN GINGER

sir. I done very well, startin' on credit, like I'm
tellin' you."

" And you've never met any of your creditors
since ? " I asked.

" No, sir, I ain't. My business don't seem
to take me that way. It's just a book debt,
you see — just a book debt. They can't complain.
What they was all arter — the two coal clerks,
the landlord, an' the old lady — what they paid
for, was nothin' but the parrot an' the cage,
wasn't it ? Well, and there it was for them,
with them all round it. They couldn't expect
more'n that, could they ? "

For the first time during the story I could
detect an indistinct chuckle from somewhere deep
in Bill Wragg's throat.

" There's just one thing 1 was sorry for," he
said ; " but then you can't 'ave everything. I
should 'a' liked to 'a' seen the shindy when them
respectable parties got tired o' waitin', an' began
to start in an' try to settle it all among
'emselves ! I'd almost 'a' give a quid back to
'ear 'ow they did settle it ! But that 'ud be a
luxury, an' a man o' business starting on credit
can't afford luxuries ! "

132

The Seller of Hate

HpHERE is an English county of which it
is said that the devil never entered it for
fear of being put into a pie. At the moment
I cannot remember which county it is, and know
no more of it than to be certain it was not
Essex, for all Essex pies are filled with much
care, and are excellent. Nevertheless, it is the
fact that in the old days, before he began building
cheap villas, the devil very rarely came into
Essex, and even now seldom ventures beyond
the parts that they sell, by auction, in building
lots. For the old Essex men were too hard
for him, and the county bore him no luck.
Everybody knows of his historic defeat at Barn
Hall, and here I have the tale of his bad bargain
at Cock-a-Bevis Hill.

It was some little time ago — some might not
call it a little time : at any rate it was before
all the improvements — that old Luke Hoddy
lived in a cottage on the lower slope of Cock-a-
Bevis Hill. It was so small a cottage that it

'33

GREEN GINGER

might have been called a shed without slander,
and a very lonely, sullen, smoky, frowning, ill-
conditioned-looking shed it was, because it is
the property of a house to proclaim its tenant's
character, and Luke Hoddy was that sort of
man. He was lonely, like his cottage, because he
was sullen and frowning and ill-conditioned, like
it also ; and they both looked passing smoky
because of neglect.

It might be venturing too far to say that Luke
Hoddy was the most misanthropic man in the
world, or even in all England. But certainly he
must have been the most misanthropic man in all
Essex, where men were all smiling, jolly, and
pleasant together in the days when the devil
feared their honest faces. Luke Hoddy not only
hated his fellow men, but he kept pigs, and
hated them ; he also kept fowls, and hated them
too. He detested the poor cottage wherein his
poverty condemned him to live ; he loathed the
people who bought eggs of him, and so enabled
him to live there ; he abominated the children
who bought apples from the tree in the garden,
abominated them to such an extent that I
cannot guess what sentiments he had left for
the boys who stole them in the dusk. He
abhorred the whole world, and everything in
it. He was poor and ugly and old, and he

134

THE SELLER OF HATE

resented each misfortune as though it were the
personal and individual crime of every creature
but himself. When he sold a fowl or a dozen
eggs he did it with so evil a grace that he had
to sell cheaper than anybody else, or keep his
wares ; and this was another reason for hating
his customer. He hated the money he took,
because it wasn't more ; the eggs he sold, because
he couldn't keep them ; the hen that laid them,
because there weren't thrice as many ; the rest of
the fowls, because they didn't care ; and he was
only glad of an order for one because he could
kill it without losing money. If he could have
wrung his customer's neck as cheaply, he would
have done it with joy. To hate everybody
better off than himself was part of his nature ;
and he hated the rest because they were so
cheerful, comparatively. If you had given him
a sackful of sovereigns he would have been your
enemy for life, because they weren't guineas ; and
you would have deserved much worse for being
such a fool.

At the close of a warm autumn day Luke
Hoddy stood by his garden gate and scowled
on all of the world that he could see. The
sinking sun flung red gold along the fields and
against the trees and hedges, and a little child sat
to view the marvel, and to think wonderful things

'35

GREEN GINGER

that it would long to recall in after life, and fail.
But old Hoddy hated all the gold in the world
that was not in his own pocket, where there was
very little, and that little the only thing he loved.
Children also he detested, for they were human
beings. A stout, round-faced woman went down
the path, with a baby on one arm and a basket
on the other, and as she passed she called good-
night. Luke flung back a savage growl, for this
woman was a great aversion of his, being always
happy, and all her life persistently sending more
children to play on Cock-a-Bevis Hill. Then a
girl came, driving cows, and a brown lad with
her, and neither of them saw Luke Hoddy at all,
because they were looking at each other. Luke
positively snarled ; and such a villainous twist
remained on his face when they had passed,
that a very small boy, who was coming hopefully
up with a halfpenny gripped in his fist, greatly
desiring an apple, turned and ran, and never
stopped till he reached the goody-shop in the
village ; so that old Hoddy was the poorer
by one halfpenny, and I am sorry it was no
more.

The day waned, and people went on their
way to rest from their work, old and young,
men and women, and old Hoddy saw the world
in little pass before his gate, and he hated it at

THE SELLER OF HATE

large. Then there went the carrier, and after
him Paigles, the farmer, on his cob.

Paigles was a notoriously poor farmer, and
backward with his rent ; it was more than believed,
in fact, that his landlord would be glad to sell
the farm and that way be quit of him, since he
shrank from turning Paigles away from the land
his great-grandfather had farmed a hundred years
before him. Luke Hoddy grinned savagely at
Paigles's back as it merged in the shadows of the
trees. If only he had the money he would buy
the farm, sell up Paigles, and fling him out, neck
and crop. He would buy other people's houses,
too, and treat them likewise. They hated him
now, and if he had money, how he would grind
their faces ! He would grind their faces off their
heads, if only he had the money.

It was at this favourable moment that the devil
ventured out on Cock-a-Bevis Hill. He did not
come flaming and raging, in a way to frighten
folk, for to-night that was not his business ; he
came dressed very well and neatly, like a gentle-
man of those days, and it struck Luke Hoddy
at the time that he looked rather like the lawyer
at Witham. He wore trousers a little tighter
than was usual — skin-tight, in fact — with straps.
His swallow-tailed coat was pinched in very
elegantly at the waist, and his beaver hat was

137

GREEN GINGER

broad in the crown and wide in the brim. He
carried a quizzing-cane, and his black stock
looked as though it must have gone a dozen
times round his neck, on a collar that was half-
way up his head behind. Still, notwithstanding
this very respectable appearance, you must not
suppose that Luke Hoddy mistook his visitor.
Indeed, he recognized him at once ; his beautifully
varnished boots looked empty at the toes, and
from time to time something vaguely disturbed
the points of his elegant coat-tail : moreover,
his eyes would have been enough, glowing there
in the dark like dull coals.

" Good evening, Mr. Hoddy," said the visitor,
pleasantly.

" Gr-r-r-umph ! " replied Luke — as near as
I can spell it. He was no great conversationalist,
finding a growl express the most of what he had
to say.

" I'm very glad to meet you," the visitor went
on. " 1 think we should know each other, Mr.
Hoddy."

c< Gr-r-r-umph."

" It might lead to business, I think."

" Gr-r-r-umph ? "

" Yes. You will find me an excellent customer.
My commundof money is unlimited — I handle most
of what exists, at some time or other — and expense

138

THE SELLER OF HATE

is no consideration, so long as I get what I want.
I am prepared to pay, Mr. Hoddy ; heavily."

" Gr-r-m." It was a slightly different growl
this time. Old Hoddy was conscious of a possible
opportunity. He did not care what he sold, if
only it would fetch enough money. " I should
want a lot," he said, " a plenshus lot. Money
down."

" You shall have it."

" An' I won't sign — no, not nothen' — not till
I get it, every farden."

The devil laughed — quite a gentlemanly laugh,
with nothing offensive in it. " You are mis-
understanding, Mr. Hoddy," he said. a I believe
— I really do believe you have the absurd old
notion I hear of so often. Do you think I want
to buy your soul ? "

" Course," answered Luke. " What else ? "

" Really, really ! I don't wish to say anything
unkind, but is it likely ? As I have told you,
I have unlimited command of money, and I spend
it freely for purposes of business. But I don't
absolutely pitch it away, Mr. Hoddy ! I don't
pay for what is as good as mine already, for
nothing ! No, no. You are persisting in a very
common and vulgar error. I may have entered
into such a transaction as you indicate, now and
again, but then the circumstances were exceptional.

'39

GREEN GINGER

As a rule such an arrangement with anybody
willing to enter into it, is altogether unnecessary,
as in your case. No ; I come to buy something
else ! "

" What's that ? " demanded Hoddy, with
suspicion. For his wits were not quick, and he
knew he was dealing with a cunning customer.
« Gr-r-r-umph ! What's that ? "

" Hate ! I want to buy hatred, wholesale. I
am the largest dealer in that line in existence,
and I pay top prices. I do not ask lower terms
in consideration of a big contract — I will even
pay a specially high rate to a large producer like
yourself; it saves trouble, and I want to have
a substantial stock ready to hand. I sow it about
all over the world, you see, and it is most
annoying to find oneself in some happy, contented
community, and the stock of hatred completely
out. So I am here to buy all you can sell."

" How much ? " asked Luke Hoddy, still
suspicious.

" Oh, we shall never quarrel about terms, 1
promise you. You shall make a fortune out of
it. Of course there are plenty of people who
throw their hate about so that I could pick it up
for nothing, but the quantities are comparatively
small ; and really, you know, a gentleman cant
go raking about in gutters for remnants and

140

THE SELLER OF HATE

scraps, like some starving blackguard after crusts.
Wouldn't do at all, you know. So I prefer to
buy wholesale, and you are a perfect quarry — a
mine. I am ready to take your whole stock."

" How much ? " asked Luke Hoddy, again.

The visitor grinned quietly. " I do believe,"
he said, " that if I wished to drive a hard bargain
I could swindle you, Mr. Hoddy. You are so
very anxious about the money, and I'm sure you
don't really guess what a stock of the goods you
have in hand. I could make quite a bargain for
the lot, I'm certain, and you'd be surprised at
the amount you had sacrificed. But, as I have
told you, money is no object with me, though I
am not, at present, urgently needing the stock.
I have been to a Philanthropic Congress lately,
where everybody exuded it, wallowed in it, and
pelted everybody else with it to such an extent
that I couldn't resist the temptation to gather it
in, though I really attended with the idea of
sowing some I already had in hand. I am quite
well provided for a time, but as a prudent man
of business I like to look ahead and make engage-
ments in advance. You want to know what I
will pay. Well, I am ready to accept bills as
often as you like to draw them, each for anything
up to five thousand pounds. Will that suit
you ? "

141

GREEN GINGER

Luke Hoddy gulped and gasped. This was
tremendous. He had been thinking of fifties and
hundreds, and here were thousands — and thousands
over and over again, indefinitely. It was wonder-
ful— too good to believe all at once. Perhaps it
would turn out a swindle after all — a trick to rob
him of the precious hate he had cherished so long,
and which now seemed a more valuable possession
than ever. Old Hoddy did not understand the
acceptance of bills, and he resolved to question
a little more.

"It seems a pretty good deal o' money," he
admitted grudgingly. " Anyhow, a good deal
for you to want to pay as can pick the stuff up.
I should count there was plenty of hate about,
too. It ain't a rare stuff."

" No, it isn't. But, considering the plenteous-
ness of the commodity, it's wonderful how little I
get of it. People seem to want it for each other,
you see. People talk a deal about hating me, but
they hate each other so much more that it's very
rarely I can get anybody's hatred without paying
for it. And that is why I am here for yours."

" Gr-r-r-umph ! Well, I'll sell. But none o'
yer bills an' 'ceptances an' that. I want money
down. See ?"

" You shall have the money before I receive
the goods. Will that suit you ? "

142

THE SELLER OF HATE

Luke thought that would do, and growled to
indicate as much.

The devil stooped in the shadow of the fence,
and produced a box, which old Hoddy had not
noticed before. It was a chest of some hard
wood, bound and cornered with iron, and as soon
as it rested on the fence-rail Hoddy grabbed it
eagerly. As a box, it was heavy, but not so
heavy as it should have been if it were full of
money. In fact old Hoddy judged it empty.

u There ain't no five thousand pun' in that ! "
he snarled.

" Quite so ; I never thought of pretending it.
This is a little arrangement of my own invention,
which I will explain." The night was full dark
by now, but a dull red light fell on the chest
wherever the devil pointed, and so Luke under-
stood all he said.

" You perceive that the box is locked. I shall
keep the key, and I advise you, for your own
sake, not to meddle. It is a dangerous thing to
open, if you don't understand it. The lid, you
see, is a deep one. That is because it contains a
separate chamber, into which you slip your bills
for acceptance. There is a narrow slot, you
perceive, just under the upper edge. Whenever
you wish to do business, you will fill in one of
the forms I shall leave you, with the amount of

GREEN GINGER

hate you wish to sell in money, up to five thousand
pounds, and sign it. Then you will slip the paper
in at the slot, and go to bed. That is all. In
the morning you will receive the money. But,
meantime, you must sleep ; otherwise the sale
cannot be completed. Take the box, and re-
member what I say. I shall not call again till
I want some of the goods. Then I shall take
away the box and leave a fresh one. Do you
know, I'm rather proud of the invention of that
box. Some day, if I have time, I intend to adapt
the idea to other purposes. It might be made
to work with pennies, for matches and lollipops
and such things. Good notion, eh ? But here
are your bill-forms ; if you want more you can
copy one of them. And remember, no more than
five thousand pounds at one time, if you please.
That is the price of the largest quantity of hate
the machine is able to compress in a day. That
is all, I think. Good evening, Mr. Hoddy ! "

And with that he was gone, vanishing in a
very low and courtly bow, which somehow slid
away backward into the shadows ; leaving Luke
Hoddy standing there with a bunch of papers in
his right hand while he balanced the box on the
fence with his left.

Old Hoddy stared for a minute and a quarter,
and then, convinced that he really was alone, he

144

THE SELLER OF HATE

picked up the box and carried it indoors. He lit
a candle, put on his spectacles, and began to spell
out one of the papers. Thus it read : —

Date

On presentation pay to me the sum of £ for hate
received.

That seemed simple enough. Luke Hoddy
sat in a chair, and stared, now, at the box.
Having done that for a little while he turned to
the paper again, and stared at that. And at last,
when he found his faculties shaking down into
their proper places, he got ink and pen, and filled
in the topmost form. He filled it in for the full
five thousand pounds, having a natural desire for
as much as he could get. Then he signed it,
slipped it into the slot, and went to bed.

In the morning he woke feeling particularly
well — uncommonly well. As he got out of bed
he caught sight of his face in the jaggy piece of
looking-glass that stood on the mantel-piece and
saw a positive smile on it. He sat for a moment
to wonder at this, and presently broke into a
laugh. He remembered a ridiculous dream about
the devil and a chest.

Sunlight came in at the poky little window,
and the sound of a thousand birds. The light
fell on the corner of a deal table, and there lay

145 L

GREEN GINGER

a little bundle of papers. There was no mistake
— they were the blank bills. Luke Hoddy rubbed
his fist over his head to clear his thoughts. The
thing would seem to have been no dream after
all. But as he pulled on his clothes he re-
membered the attorney at Witham. No doubt
this was some joke of his — Luke had noticed
the extraordinary likeness from the first. But
why should he take all this trouble to put a
sell on a stranger ? Luke Hoddy floundered
into the only other room of his cottage, and
there saw the iron-strapped box standing against
the wall. Truly it was no dream. There, along
the slot in the lid, lay the white edge of the
paper, which he had thought he had pushed
well in. Or at any rate it was some paper, or
papers. What was it ? He reached and pulled
out — not one paper, but five ; and each was a
thousand-pound bank-note !

It was true then — quite true ; neither dream
nor sell, but simple fact. Here was the actual,
indubitable money. Luke Hoddy sat for a while
in the blankest of brown studies and then began
to chuckle. Chuckling, he went out into the
open and looked across the fields, lusty and
sparkling in the fresh morning. A little child,
carrying a basin in a blue handkerchief, stood
in amaze to see old Hoddy so merry : where-

146

THE SELLER OF HATE

upon he gave the child an apple for nothing,
and sat down to laugh at the strangeness of
things.

He sobered down after a little, and wondered
at the impulse that had led to the gift. That
apple was the first thing he had ever given
away in his life, and it seemed a foolish thing
to do. Especially — and the thought came like
a grip at the throat — especially if the thing was
a sell after all, and the notes spurious.

This was a matter that must be settled at
once. So he watched for the carrier's cart that
morning, and went by it to Witham, to the
bank. Here his spirits rose again, for the cashier
made no difficulty about the notes, but opened
an account with them, and old Hoddy left the
premises with a pass-book of his own, containing
an entry of five thousand pounds to his credit.

He resolved to see about Paigles's farm without
delay, and to that end called on the attorney.
Hoddy observed the lawyer pretty closely, and
was relieved to find that although he was smartly
enough dressed, he was not so very much like
the visitor of last night, after all. The lawyer
promised to make discreet inquiries as to the
price of the farm, and Luke Hoddy left him.

That night he filled in another bill for the
full five thousand, and in the morning drew out

GREEN GINGER

another bunch of notes. Then he went out and
caught the children going to school and distri-
buted apples among them, till nothing remained
on the tree but leaves ; laughing so much at
the fun that rumours arose that old Hoddy was
gone mad. The bank-cashier was a little sur-
prised to see him again with precisely the same
amount, and the lawyer was also a little surprised
to have another visit, and instructions to look out
for a few more freehold investments, in addition
to Paigles's farm. But that mattered nothing,
and the next day old Luke Hoddy banked five
thousand more.

Paigles's farm was for sale, and at a moderate
price ; also there was a deal of other eligible
property to be had in the neighbourhood, and
as the money rolled in Hoddy took the first
steps toward becoming a landed proprietor of
no small consideration.

But lawyers have their fees to earn, and be-
tween the first steps and the last there are a
great many more, and in those days there were
more than there are now ; and every step took
time. So that it came to pass that, before the
last seal was pressed and the last fee earned, old
Hoddy, rising one morning very merry, turned
to pull out his customary notes from the box,
but instead of five, found only one piece of

148

THE SELLER OF HATE

paper, and that not a bank-note. It was, in
fact, his own bill of exchange, just as he had
drawn it the night before ; except that there
now appeared across it, in the blurred capitals
of a roughly-inked stamp, the words REFERRED
TO DRAWER.

Luke Hoddy had grown so used to drawing
his money regularly and making his daily trip
to Witham, that he went through some minutes
of dumb amazement before he realized that his
stock of hate was at last absolutely exhausted,
and no more bank-notes were to be expected
from the box. At first his smile faded and his
face lengthened ; but it was not for long. Indeed
he was a very rich man, and he had of late
begun to wonder what he should do with all
his money. For the credit of human nature I
shall not tell the precise figure of old Hoddy 's
riches ; and very few would believe in the
existence of such a stock of hate as it would
imply, if I did. But he was a very rich man,
and was putting money into other securities
beside land. So his face soon broadened again
into the grin it had worn since he had stripped
his apple-tree. He would not need to go to
Witham to-day, and he would have leisure to
think things over.

He was still in the little cottage on Cock-a-
149

GREEN GINGER

Bevis Hill — indeed there had scarce been time
for a change. He used to detest the place, but
now that all his hate was sold, he rather liked
the situation. He had a design of building a
house close by, some day, but meantime the
cottage did very well, and he resolved in any
event to leave it standing, and use it sometimes.

He went out into his garden and beyond the
fence, whistling. Presently he saw the girl coming,
driving her cows out to the meadow, and the
brown lad with her, just as they had passed, in
the opposite direction, on the evening when
Hoddy had received the Owner of the Box.
But this time they could not help seeing him,
for he called to them gaily, with questions about
banns and a wedding-day, and a promise of a
silver tea-pot when the day should come. And
when they had passed he was reminded to fill
a basket with eggs and carry them down to
the cottage of the round-faced woman who had
so many children. After which, finding his
experiences in generosity such novel fun, he got
five shillingsworth of pennies at the Crown and
Cushion and gave one to every child he could
catch. Some of them wanted a deal of catching,
for it was not easy for people to understand
this change in old Hoddy's habits. The fact
was that not only had he got rid of all his old

150

THE SELLER OF HATE

hatred, but when he remembered it he felt a little
ashamed, and had a great desire to make amends.

Paigles's farm was bought at last, and more
than half the parish with it ; the last fee was
paid and the deeds were locked in the strong-
room at the bank. Then, when the time came
to sell up Paigles, old Hoddy lowered his rent
instead. And as to the other tenants, he dis-
covered a way of grinding their faces against
platters and quart pots, giving them and their
families the most enormous dinner, in three
barns, that Cock-a-Bevis Hill had ever looked
down on.

It was in the merriment that followed this
dinner that the transactions began that revealed
the sole drawback to Hoddy's extraordinary
bargain. For in his sudden revulsion from
misanthropy and misogyny he conceived an
almost exaggerated opinion of the attractions of
his tenant's daughters and sisters, and, in some
cases, of their aunts and mothers. Nor did it
stop there, for as the days went and the news
of his wealth and amiability spread and multiplied,
old Hoddy found himself involved in such a
complication of entanglements, that there was
nothing for it but once again to call in the aid
of the Witham attorney, by whose arts, and the
payment of a good deal of money, actions for

GREEN GINGER

breach were compromised, bigamy averted, and
safety found in the end by marriage with an
active and respectable widow.

But these things came to a head later, and
in any case they have little to do with the story.
Meantime, the iron-strapped box stood in the
corner of Luke Hoddy's keeping-room, full of
compressed hate, waiting for the devil to come
and fetch it.

Now the report of old Hoddy's sudden wealth
went about among the good folk of those parts,
and not among the good folk only. It reached
also two vagabond thieves, tramping through
Witham from Springfield gaol, after a narrow
squeak for their necks at the assizes ; and this was
not the first time they had cheated the gallows.
They turned aside from the main road because of
the rumours, for a feeble old man of great wealth,
living alone in a cottage of two rooms, offered
singular attractions to their inquiring natures.

They came to Cock-a-Bevis Hill, and learned
enough to make them very hopeful ; and that
night they took a lantern and two bludgeons,
and lifted old Hoddy's simple latch with neither
noise nor trouble. Old Hoddy was snoring
sturdily in the other room, but though they had
come willing to stop his snore for ever, they
checked at the sight of the iron-bound box in

152

THE SELLER OF HATE

the corner. It stood very notable among the
poor furniture about it, and here, they were well
assured, was the best the place could yield, the
end of their desires — the treasure chest. So they
left old Hoddy to his snore, and carried the box
quietly out, and up the breezy slope of Cock-
a-Bevis Hill under the stars. In a sheltered
hollow near the top they set it down, and prized
it open with a chisel ; and that was the end of
both of them.

In the morning Paigles's horseman found them
lying dead in the hollow, contorted and black —
something like men struck by lightning ; and the
box lay by them, plain and empty.

When Luke Hoddy learned the news in the
morning he looked up the hill and at the clouds,
and saw that the breeze held steady from the
west, as it had done the day before ; and he
knew that all his hate had been carried away on
the winds from off the earth. It had saved the
hangman a double turn, and that was all it had
done, good or bad ; what became of it nobody
could ever tell, though since the wind was from
the west, some of it may have fallen in Germany.

But the Owner of the Box was sadly vexed,
as you would guess. Nevertheless he dissembled
his anger, and as soon as he heard of his mis-
fortune (which he did by means of which I

153

GREEN GINGER

know nothing) he came to old Hoddy, polite
as ever, with the idea of reducing his bad debt
as far as possible. He went cautiously to work,
being out of confidence with himself in the county
of Essex, and remembering his ancient defeat at
Barn Hall — of which I may tell another time.

"Well, Mr. Hoddy," he said, "we've had a
little misfortune. It's no fault of yours, of
course, and I shall make some very special
arrangements for the guilty parties. But to prove
my perfect and continued confidence in yourself,
I've come to do business again, on very exceptional
terms. I'm ready to enter into that other little
transaction at which you hinted during our last
interview. As I said then, it's a thing I rarely
do, in spite of vulgar opinion to the contrary ;
but in your case, an old and respected customer,
I'm willing to stretch a point. You've found me
treat you very well in our first deal, and I don't
want to drop the connection. What do you say ? "

Because, you see, now that all Hoddy's hate
was quite gone, Hoddy himself was such a very
different person that he was a very desirable
bargain, and the devil was ready to buy him
forthwith.

Old Hoddy chuckled deep and long. " It do
seem to me," he said, "as you'd do better in
the shires ; I count you make a poor trade in

"54

THE SELLER OF HATE

Essex. At Dedham an' Snoreham they be too
wide awake for 'ee, an' too clever at Little
Witham ; you'd starve at Pinchpoles, an' you
can't fob 'em at Fobbing. But a shire man allus
was a fool, an' I count you'd do better right
over across the Lea, at Much Hadham. What
you're at now is to buy me, eh ? "

" At a great price, Mr. Hoddy ; a noble sum ! "

Old Hoddy chuckled again. c' Very kind, I'm
sure. 'Fore I lost my hate I'd ha' talked it
over longways, but ready meat's my victual. D'ye
know the stile at the bottom o' t' hill ? "

" Yes."

" Well, if ye go over that an' keep along by
t' hedge, you come to anoather. Know that ? "

" Perfectly."

<f Other side o' that there's a ditch."

'£ Just so."

u An' a meddy with a tree in the middle — oak.
D'ye know the oak too ? "

« Yes."

" Well, if you went along down there now,
arl alone, an' ran round that there oak, who'd
you be a-chasin' ? "

« Myself."

Old Hoddy guffawed loud and long, with his
thumb against his nose. " Go on then ! " he
said. " That's my opinion, too ! "

'55

The Rodd Street Revolution

I HAVE told the tale of the Red Cow
Anarchist group in another place, and at
another time ; indeed I am startled to remember
that it was fourteen years ago. As a fact the
credit of that tale, if it have any, is due to my
disreputable friend, Snorkey Timms, who told it
me, as he has told me others. He it was who first
discovered Sotcher, the founder and victim of
the Red Cow Group, and he it was who told
me also this other tale of an earlier group of
Sotcher's founding.

Teddy Mills, it would seem, was a shoemaker,
who lived and worked in a very small house in
Rodd Street, Bethnal Green — a very small street,
which could only be reached by making several
turns and twists through and out of other streets
nearly as small. The little house had once been
one of a row of country cottages, and the row
even now carried some vague air of blighted
ruralism, because of the muddy strips of front

156

THE ROOD STREET REVOLUTION

garden, which many tumbling children shared with
many lank cats and a few very desperate scarlet
runners on strings.

Teddy Mills, small, bristly and wild of eye,
was Sotcher's newest convert. As a jobbing
shoemaker, in accordance with the mysterious laws
which make all jobbing shoemakers swarthy and
ill-shaved and politically rebellious, Teddy Mills
was promising material, and Sotcher, lank, greasy
and unwashed, fresh from the Anarchist Club in
Berners Street, Shadwell, fastened on him at once.
For, indeed, Teddy Mills made good material in
other respects than that of his native readiness
to join in the abuse and overthrow of whomsoever
he might suspect of superiority, in fortune or
qualities, over himself; for one thing, he had
good work, and consequently money which might
be cadged.

On the other hand, Teddy Mills had a wife,
who was very intractable material indeed. Sotcher's
impassioned teachings, received with enthusiasm
by Teddy Mills, brought from Mrs. Mills no
better tribute than a sniff of contempt ; and the
lady's opinion of Sotcher himself, wholly un-
favourable, she expressed with much freedom and
no politeness. And so it came about that, from
the day of Sotcher's appearance, things went less
smoothly in the Mills household. Teddy Mills's

157

GREEN GINGER

time soon seemed to be divided between listening
to Sotcher and quarrelling with Mrs. Mills, so
that very little was left for mere business, and
the making and mending of shoes became more
and more a theory of yesterday and to-morrow,
and less and less a practice of to-day.

" Well," Mrs. Mills would say, appearing
suddenly with a red face and tucked-up skirts
after a day's washing, " I've done my day's work,
'cept clearin' up. 'Ow much V you done ? "

" I've done more'n you think," her husband
would reply, with evasive dignity.

" Yes, that you 'ave, if you've done anythink
but sit an' jaw along o' that dirty greasy spongin'
thief Sotcher. I 'card 'im. I 'card 'im tellin'
you to do away with the pTice. You'd look fine
doin' away with the p'lice, you would ! You'll
do away with me, if there's much more of it !
'Ow long am I to keep this place goin' like
this?"

" When the social revolution comes," Teddy
Mills explained, " we sha'n't neither of us 'ave
to work more'n an hour or two a day, 'cos every-
body'll 'ave to work.'

"An hour or two! Ho! An' 'ow's this
place to be kep' clean an' food cooked an' all in
an hour or two ! But p'raps a woman's work
don't count. An hour or two, says you ! An'

158

THE ROOD STREET REVOLUTION

'ow'll your dear friend Sotcher like it, I wonder ?
A 'ole hour ! Did 'e ever do an hour's work
in 'is life?"

" Mr. Sotcher's a speaker, I tell you, a pioneer
— one as teaches the propaganda "

" Proper what ? Gander ? It's a proper goose
'e teaches when 'e comes 'ere a-preachin' to you !
With 'is free this an' free that, an' free drinks
between whiles ! /ain't a-goin' to stand it much
longer, so I tell you ! I ain't a-goin' to work
'ere for you an' 'im too, on nothink. I can earn
my livin' alone, I can, an' I will, if there ain't
a change ! "

Mrs. Mills tried Sotcher with direct personal
insult, but that had no better effect than to turn
his unceasing discourse to the denunciation of
marriage as an oppressive and inconvenient in-
stitution, which should shortly be abolished, with
the police, the magistracy, and every other relic of
privileged authority, temporal and spiritual. On
her part, Teddy's wife grew more urgently bitter
as the days went.

And so it came to pass that one fine morning
Sotcher arrived at the gate of Mills' s front garden
to find Teddy standing by the post, clutching
at his touzled hair perplexedly, and staring
gloomily up the street.

" She's gone," he reported briefly.

159

GREEN GINGER

" Gone where ? " asked the visitor, gazing up
the street also, and seeing nothing.

" I dunno," replied Teddy. " She's hooked
it, that's all. I did a bit o' work last night, an'
took it 'ome this mornin' ; an' when I came back
there was this on the table."

He extended a crumpled scrap of paper, on
which Sotcher read the scrawl : " Good bye, im
agoing to work for myself now."

" Selfishness," commented Sotcher. " The
selfishness prevailent at the present time is due
to the rotten state of s'ciety an' the oppression o'
the privileged classes. When we 'ave the social
revolution, an' free an' absolute liberty o' the
individual, then selfishness '11 be swep' out o' the
world."

" Yes," answered Teddy blankly, " but what —
what am I a-goin' to do till it is ? "

" Wave aloft the banner o' free an' unrestricted
brotherhood and liberty in the face o' the bloated
circles o' class an' capitalistic privilege," replied
Sotcher, with the fluency of a fresh-oiled machine.

« What ? "

" I said we'd raise our free 'ands an' voices
in the sacred cause o' universal anarchy an*
proudly march in the van of progress to the
glorious consummation o' the social upheaval,"
Sotcher continued, knowing that one sentence

1 60

THE RODD STREET REVOLUTION

meant as much as the other, and airing them,
therefore, in turn.

"Yes — jesso," replied Teddy Mills, turning
his uneasy glance toward the little front door ;
" but what about the washin' ? "

Sotcher's eloquence was not to be turned aside.
" Comrades with a glorious mission like us,"
he pursued, " can't waste time over washin'. I
don't." The truth of this remark was visible
to the naked eye. " We fix our eyes forward
and up'ard, trampling under the feet of free
initiative the relics of barbareous authority,
an' overthrowin' the bloodstained temples ot
capitalistic monopoly ! "

" Yes, I know," responded Teddy ; " but when
I said washin', I wasn't thinkin' so much of our
washin'. She's bin takin' in washin' lately, an'
earnin' a bit, an' I shall miss it."

This was a "more serious matter, and Sotcher
paused thoughtfully. He considered the situation
for a moment, and then produced a brilliant
project.

" Comrade Mills ! " he said, lifting and ex-
hibiting to Teddy's gaze the palm of a very
grubby hand, " this is an 'istoric moment ! "

<l Is it ? " asked Teddy innocently.

" It is. It's lucky your wife's gone, an' so
put the scheme into my 'ead. We don't want

161 M

GREEN GINGER

'er. We'll found the first real Anarchist
colony ! "

" Yes ? " said Teddy interrogatively.

" That 'umble 'ome o' yours," proceeded
Sotcher, " will be 'anded down the ages on golden
trumpets, an' inscribed on the 'arts of generations
to come. We'll begin the social revolution
there ! "

" All right," assented Teddy. So complete
was his belief in Sotcher, that if the proposal
had been to redistribute the solar system there
he would have said " All right," just the same.

4< We'll bring in one or two comrades an' live
together in the full brother'ood of anarchy, an'
give a example to the toilin' millions about
us. We'll 'ave perfect individual freedom an'
voluntary co-operation, an' the 'ole world '11 take
a lesson by us an' bust out in the glorious day-
break of Universal Autonomy ! "

" All right," said Teddy, again.

SOTCHER invited the co-operation of two more
comrades, and he did not bring them from the
Anarchist Club. Four he judged a convenient
total number, since the house had four rooms,
and he did not bring the two new comrades from
the club, because he knew the club of old. There

162

THE RODD STREET REVOLUTION

they were all talkers as fluent as himself, and
not listeners. Sotcher wanted listeners. It was
for that reason — partly — that he sallied forth
<{ spreading the light " ; for that, and because
the Anarchist Club was the very worst place he
knew for borrowing in.

So he brought fresh material. He brought
one Billy Snider, a furtive person with an elusive
squint and a curious property of looking smaller
than he really was, though he was not large
at best. Billy Snider, it seemed, was an " in-
dividual expropriator." For years in the matter
of private property he had been putting Anar-
chistic principles into practice without knowing
it, and the bloated bourgeois called him a thief.
He had derived a great deal of consolation and
surprise from the discovery, drawn from Sotcher's
discourse, that he was in reality a pioneer of
human regeneration, working to an heroic purpose.

Sotcher also brought a certain Joe Budd, a
very large man of much muscular development,
with a face like knotted timber and a black eye
that was sometimes the right and sometimes the
left, and occasionally double, but always there.
Mr. Budd was not understood to be partial to
any particular profession, and the beer required
for his sustenance had hitherto been chiefly con-
tributed by friends who preferred to see him

•63

GREEN GINGER

in a good temper. Sotcher had laid his account
with care, for if Teddy Mills would work at
his trade and Billy Snider " expropriate " out of
doors for the benefit of the community, while
Joe Budd kept ofF inconvenient interference, and
terrorized such persons as broker's men, then
Sotcher, for his part, was ready to supply all the
talk the enterprise might require.

It was a great occasion for Sotcher, when
the four assembled that evening, and he for
the first time addressed a group that was all
his own.

" Comrades ! " he cried, with a sweep of the
arm that might have included a thousand, " we
are 'ere to open, to inaugurate, or as I may
say to begin, the Social Revolution ! In this
'ere 'umble 'ome we are to set rollin' the ball
that shall pave the way for the up'eaval of
'umanity, and, spreadin' its wings to the utter-
most ends of the earth, write its name in letters
of fire across the 'eavens ! The only law an'
order for free men is Anarchy ! We shall live
'ere, comrades, in perfeck freedom under a
brotherly compact that won't bind nobody. We
shall set a example o' free life, with no law an'
no authority, as '11 open the eyes o' the toilin'
proletariat an' stir them to copy our noble pro-
ceedin's, an' go on to overthrow the p'lice an'

164

THE ROOD STREET REVOLUTION

the gover'ment, an' the water-rates an' all the
disgustin' machinery of organized oppression ! "

" 'Ear, 'ear ! " cried Teddy Mills.

" Our watchword shall be liberty, an' down
with privilege an' monopoly. What Us liberty,
my comrades ? Is it magistrates, an' prisons, 'an
p'lice at the corner of every street ? "

" No ! " interjected Billy Snider fervently.

u It is not, comrades. The police is the pro-
tector of the real criminals, the plunderin' so-
called upper classes ! Stands to reason no honest
man would want pertectin' by p'lice. P'lice
is brute force — the brute force as the privileged
classes is 'edged theirselves in with ; paid
myrmidons makin' slaves o' the people. We
don't want no myrmidons, do we ? " ('* No ! "
again from Billy). " O' course not. We'd
disdain to be seen speakin' to 'em. Very well,
then, what does anybody else want with 'em ?
What but privilege an' monopoly ? We will
break down all privilege an' monopoly ! Our
comrade 'ere, our comrade Billy Snider, has
been breakin' down monopolies for years. Not
on a grand scale, p'raps, but wherever 'e could
in a small way, an' 'e's suffered for it. In fact
Vs not long out from six months for breakin'
down some bloated capitalist's monopoly of a
gold watch an' chain. It's property as is the

GREEN GINGER

real robbery, an' all expropriators are our brothers.
We now begin the social revolution, comrades.
Liberty for all, voluntary co-operation, free
initiative, free contrack, subject to perpetual
change an' revision, do what you like an' take
what you want — them's our principles, an' our
only law is that there is no laws. I 'ave 'ere
a box which will 'old the money of the com-
munity, an' I begin by offerin' it to comrade
Mills, who will 'ave the honour o' bein' the
first to give up 'is private ownership, an' placin'
whatever money 'e 'as in the funds of the
group."

Teddy Mills, amid encouraging murmurs,
dropped into the box the sum of sixteen shillings
and sevenpence ; a large part of it would be
due, next Monday, for rent, but a week's rent
is not- a thing to bother about when you are
starting a revolution.

Billy Snider's contribution was rather less,
and Joe Budd was discovered to have suddenly
fallen asleep. Being with much difficulty aroused
he promised to see about it to-morrow ; and,
showing signs of unpleasant irritation, was allowed
to lapse into slumber once more. Sotcher pro-
duced a sixpence and three pennies with much
solemnity.

" I ain't so fortunate as you, comrades," he
166

THE RODD STREET REVOLUTION

explained, " in bein' able to contribute quite
so liberal, but sich as it is it is my all, an'
give freely. All the more credit to me, p'raps
you'll say, comrades, but no — I don't claim no
more merit than anybody else 'ere. There it
is, give freely. Doubts 'ave been cast on the
tanner, though only by slaves of the capitalist,
sich as barmen. This is our capital, comrades,
in this 'ere box, an' all money as conies in
goes to it ; an' what anybody wants he takes.
We won't vote, for majority tyranny is the
worst of all tyrannies, but I suggest we begin
by gettin' in a little beer."

The suggestion was agreed to, and with the
advent of the beer, Joe Budd's nap terminated
with as much suddenness as it had begun.

41 1 like your speechmakin'," observed Billy
Snider, over the beer, to Sotcher. <l You put
it fust rate. That about monopolies, you know.
That's my principles, but I couldn't ha' put
it so 'andsome. An' that about free contrack,
too, an' changin' your mind when you like."

" One o' the first principles of Anarchy,"
remarked Sotcher. " Free contrack between man
an' man, perpetual subjeck to revision an' can-
cellation. It is forbidden now by the rule of
the brutal majority."

" Yes — I know that," observed Snider, " an
i67

GREEN GINGER

I've suffered for it. I went a-bookmakin' once,
to Alexander's Park Races. I did very well
an' made a 'ole lot o' contracks, lay in' the odds ;
but when I'd got my satchel pretty full o' the
backers' money, an' they was lookin' at the
'orses, an* I 'ad time to think things over, why,
I changed my mind about the contracks, same
as anybody might do, an' started to go 'ome.
Why not ? But the brutal majority treated me
shameful. Chucked me into a pond, they did,
an' I 'adn't got more'n about a quarter of a suit
o' clothes to go 'ome in."

" All owin* to the rotten system o' s'ciety,"
commented Sotcher. " The rule o' the majority's
just as bad as any other rule ; but there's to
be no rule an' no majority now — no commerce
an' profit-huntin' ; free exchange, free every-
think ! "

"That's what I've been lookin' for for a long
time," said Joe Budd fervently, and finished
his pot.

It is impossible to set going an entirely new
system of life without a little friction, and the
friction began at bed-time. There was only
one bed in the place, and Billy Snider, having
with much foresight discovered this fact in time,
went to bed first, unostentatiously. When this
treachery became apparent, Joe Btidd's righteous

168

THE RODD STREET REVOLUTION

indignation was worthy of the occasion. He
took the slumbering betrayer of the rights of
man by a leg and an arm, and hauled him out on
the floor.

" D'ye call this equal rights ? " he demanded.
" You sleepin' comftable in a bed, an' us on the
floor ? Ought to be ashamed o' yerself. You
ain't got no more rights in that bed than we 'ave ;
'an as I pulled you out I'm goin' to sleep in
it." Which he did.

In the morning it was perceived that Billy
Snider had risen early and gone out.

" Gone on a job," commented Sotcher. " Hope
he'll bring back something good."

At this moment Joe Budd, whose hand had
strayed carelessly over the edge of the money-
box as it lay on its shelf, uttered a gasp, and
pulled down the box bodily. It was empty !

Joe Budd's opinion of Billy Snider when he
pulled him out of bed was mere flattery to the
opinion he expressed now He kept at it so
long that at length Teddy Mills took up a
pair of boots that were partly mended and set
to work to finish them. The sight of Teddy's
industry somewhat calmed Joe, and presently he
asked : "How long '11 you be getting them done ? "

" Not more'n a quarter of an hour," Teddy
estimated.

169

GREEN GINGER

<{ Right," returned Joe, sitting down and
feeling for his pipe. " I'll take 'em 'ome for you."

But here Sotcher interposed. tc Don't you
bother, comrade," he said ; " they mightn't
know you. /'// take 'em 'ome."

u No," replied Joe, taking his pipe from his
mouth and looking very squarely into Sotcher's
eyes. " I bet you won't."

Sotcher let it stand at that, and resigned himself
to watch Teddy's work. When it was done,
and the largest sum that could possibly be charged
was decided on, Joe Budd was given precise
directions to find the chandler's shop where the
boots were due, and departed with them under
his arm.

" Comrade Joe Budd," observed Sotcher, gazing
thoughtfully at the ceiling, c< is a noble soul, as
every friend o' the social revolution must be.
But from the point o' view o' the group, p'raps
it's a pity 'e took them boots 'ome."

ct Why," asked Teddy, " 'e won't stick to the
money, will 'e ? "

" Stick to it ? No — not stick to it ; not stick
to it long, anyway. But 'e's a noble, impulsive
soul, an' liable to get thirsty very sudden. An' 'e
deals very free an' large, as regards thirst."

But Mr. Budd's thirst was destined to be
unrelieved as yet. In five minutes he burst into

170

THE RODD STREET REVOLUTION

the room in a state of exacerbated ill-temper, and
exhibited strong signs of a desire to catch Teddy
Mills by the throat. Teddy took up a position
behind a table, with dodging-room on either
hand.

" What d'ye mean ? " demanded Joe Budd.
" What d'ye mean by sendin' me out for nothin' ?
The chap at the chandler's shop's been an' took
it off your bill, an' 'e says you owe 'im one 'an
ninepence ha'penny besides ! "

" Does 'e ? " Teddy answered blankly. " It's
very likely. My wife used to run a bill with
'im, but 1 didn't know 'ow it stood."

Here Mr. Budd was aware of something very
like a chuckle from Sotcher.

" What ? " he exclaimed, turning his wrath
in a new direction ; " laughin', was ye ? Laughin'
at me ? Call that liberty, I s'pose ? All right
— gimme that 'at."

Sotcher 's hat was a sad thing, but he wore it
indoors and out as an expression of contempt
for social forms. Joe Budd snatched it from
his head, and drove out the dent in the crown
with a punch of his fist.

" You take a liberty with me," he said, " an'
I'll take one with you — that's equal rights. I'll
expropriate this 'ere 'at, an' swop it for the clock
on the mantelpiece — that's free exchange ; and

171

GREEN GINGER

if I 'ave any o' your lip you'll get a free punch
on the nose ! "

And therewith, carrying the clock under his
arm, Mr. Joe Budd walked out for the day.

It was a dull day's work for Teddy Mills, spite
of Sotcher's eloquence. Sotcher explained that
little difficulties were inevitable in the early stages
of so glorious an undertaking as theirs, but that
things would go more smoothly every hour.
Late in the evening Joe Budd returned, very
red in the face, a trifle thick in the voice, but
noisy and argumentative withal.

He took the money-box from the shelf and
shook it contemptuously. " Empty, o' course,''
'he said. " You two ain't done much for this
ere community to-day, but I will."

He dropped a pawn-ticket into the box, and
put it down before them. " That's the ticket for
the clock," he pursued ; " all there is in the
box. Seems to me you expect me to keep this
'ere show goin' all by myself. Well, any'ow
I done my share to-day — where's my supper? '

He glared from Teddy Mills to Sotcher, and
back to Teddy again. But with that his attention
was drawn in another direction by the stealthy
entrance of Billy Snider.

Snider slid in quietly, though with an elaborate
air of careless indifference. Joe sprang up and

172

THE RODD STREET REVOLUTION

seized him by the arm. " Where's that money ? "
demanded the outraged Budd.

" Money ? What money ? " asked Billy, with
much innocent surprise.

" What money ? You know what money ; all
the money ; the money in the box ! "

Billy Snider wriggled uncomfortably and looked
from one to another. " In the box ? Oh, that ?
Well, I wanted it, you know, so I just took it —
like we arranged."

" Like we — like we Why, you took it

n i "
all !

" Yes, I know. I wanted it all."

Joe Budd wasted no more words, but swung
Billy Snider across the room, and pushed him
backward over the table. " You turn out yer
pockets," he commanded, "or I'll tear 'em out
o' your trouseys an' bash you arterwards. Go
on ! Turn 'em inside out ! "

Billy Snider glanced towards the other comrades,
but saw no encouragement. Very grudgingly
he extracted several shillings and a few coppers
from one trouser pocket and put them on the
table.

" Go on ! Out with the rest ! "

With another reluctant effort, Billy added some
more shillings ; but Joe, with a preference for
quicker business, thrust his fingers into his victim's

173

GREEN GINGER

waistcoat pockets with no reluctance whatever,
and there found three sovereigns !

u Three quid ! " cried Joe. " Look at that !
An' last night 'e 'adn't got fifteen bob to pay
into the funds ! "

He released Billy and turned from one comrade
to another a look of grieved surprise. u Seems
to me I've bin made a victim of in this 'ere
business," he said. " You're all in it, I b'lieve.
Well, well — I won't appoint myself treasurer,
'cos that *ud be officialism an' authority, an'
agin the sacred principles of anarchy ; I won't
be treasurer, but I will take care o' the money.
Where's my supper ? ' he proceeded, with a
sudden burst of wrath. " 'Ere you, Mr. Bloomin'
Jawmedead, take that, an' get my supper ! "

It was Sotcher who was addressed, and " that "
was a vigorous bang in the eye. Sotcher
staggered and gasped, and, with a tender hand
over the bruised feature began a noisy protest
based on the rights of sovereign humanity.

"Rights?" retorted Joe Budd ; "it's equal
rights for all, ain't it ? Very well, I've punched
you in the eye — you've got just as much right
to punch me. Goin' to ? Eh? Ain't you ? 'Cos
if you ain't, go an' get my supper. That's
voluntary co-operation, that is. ' Anarchy is
order' is what you told me yerself, an' I'm goin'

174

THE RODD STREET REVOLUTION

to 'ave my orders carried out 'ere. I ain't agoin'
to belong to a free community an' be done out
o' my rights. This 'ere's a brother'ood of free
initiative, whether you like it or no ! "

Late that night, when Joe Budd had retired
in state to the bed that had been Teddy's, Billy
Snider suggested the propriety of a simultaneous
attack on the common oppressor. But Sotcher,
still tenderly fingering the black eye, was sure
that his principles would never permit him to
participate in an act involving the Tyranny of
the Majority.

And in the morning it was found that Billy
Snider had risen early again. He had not inter-
fered with the box this time, for the pawn-ticket
lay undisturbed. But Joe Budd, swathed in a
blanket, came downstairs in a typhoon of violent
language, to announce that his clothes were all
gone, with the money in the pockets.

Now it chanced that Joe Budd's was the best
suit of clothes in the house, while Sotcher's would
never have paid for carrying off. But although
Sotcher's clothes were left, and not a rag the
worse, it was observed that he paled instantly
at the announcement of Billy's second evasion,
and clapped his hands to his pockets. There
were some seconds of agonized and contorted
investigation, and then the orator straightway

175

GREEN GINGER

vanished into the outer street; whence he returned
in five minutes in company with that foe of all
his dearest principles — a policeman.

u I've bin robbed in this 'ouse," Sotcher com-
plained clamorously. " I've bin robbed o' two
pound one an' four in this 'ouse, an' I'll 'ave
the lor of somebody ! That's the master o' the
'ouse, constable, an' 'is name's Mills. Ain't 'e
responsible ? I've bin robbed in this 'ouse, I
tell you, an' I won't stand it. 'E's responsible in
the eye o' the lor ! Two pound one an' four was
in my pockets, an* while there's lor an' magistrates
an' p'lice in this country I mean to 'ave my rights.
There's the man o' the 'ouse, constable ! "

Boys came running, and women with aprons
over their heads : and the Rodd Street revolution
wound up ignobly in a street row of the most
ordinary Bethnal Green type, the centre whereof
was marked by the towering helmet of the
policeman, about which swirled the excited forms
of Teddy Mills, Alfred Sotcher, and a large and
violent man in a blanket. While in the distance
was perceived the rapidly approaching form of
Mrs. Mills, who had heard rumours of strange
doings at the home she had left temporarily, with
a view of giving her husband a salutary shock,
and was now most vigorously resolved to go and
investigate matters for herself.

The Chamber of Light :
a Fantasy

T F I cannot tell a tale of a haunted house in
* which I have lived, nor even of one in which
I have passed a night of trembling adventure
(and indeed neither experience has been my
fortune), I at least know enough of the strange
case of Missel Hall to be able to present it in
its completeness, or at any rate in as much of
its completeness as will ever be known, and
with an accuracy to which, I believe, few other
persons could pretend.

The house is fairly large, as one might expect
from its title ; yet not altogether so large as
one may sometimes see a "hall," for, indeed,
the name is given rather loosely in Essex to
almost any house of the least pretension. Where-
fore it must be remembered that Missel Hall is
not such a hall as some 1 have seen — like a
quarter of a mile of Park Lane with a terrace
before it — nor is it a mere farmhouse, like

177 N

GREEN GINGER

Tarpots Hall. It was, and is, no more nor
less than a comfortably large house, just large
enough for its advancing ends to be called wings.
It stood in a comparatively bare part of the
commonly well-grown county of Essex, and on
a slight elevation, which looked across a little
common, or heath, that was unusually flat for
that same county, which the ignorant stranger
believes to be flat everywhere.

When I called the house comfortably large,
I meant that, and nothing more. That is to
say, so far as size might give comfort, Missel
Hall had it ; but so far as a plague of ghosts
and their terrors might abolish comfort, Missel
Hall was the most uncomfortable house in the
county. Once more I pick my words with care.
The Hall was the most uncomfortable house in
the county, before it received its last tenants ;
soon after their arrival the more active troubles
ceased, and the whole ghostly peculiarities of the
place settled down into one — silent and weird.
There was a room which had a light of
its own.

It was not a mere point of light — a ghostly
candle, " corpse-light," or anything of that sort-
but a wan, sickly luminousness that filled the
whole apartment. It is to be presumed that it
persisted night and day, though bright daylight

178

THE CHAMBER OF LIGHT

made it imperceptible ; for as soon as the light
began to fail, and even at midday, when a heavy
thundercloud turned noon to twilight, the pale
light grew visible through the one window of
the haunted room, and persisted, through night
or storm, till full sunlight outstared it.

To see the house from the heath, standing
black and desolate like a rock against the evening
sky, with its one eye of unearthly light, was
uncanny enough, but perhaps the effect was
heightened when other windows showed the warm
light of common lamps ; for the contrast was
striking, and no stranger could have passed
without a twinge of surprise and wonder at
the spectral light of the single high window in
the east wing. I have heard people confess to
a chilliness of scalp and spine at the sight.
There was never another house in Essex be-
devilled exactly in this way, though I think I
remember to have heard some talk of a case
rather like it in a western county.

But this strange light, as I have said, was
not seen till after the arrival of the last tenants
of Missel Hall. Before then the whole place
had been given over to ghostly disturbances of
many sorts ; with the arrival of the Quilter
family these suddenly ceased, and were immedi-
ately succeeded by this, a phenomenon wholly

179

GREEN GINGER

unprecedented, and, it would seem, less capable
of explanation than any that had gone before.

The house was an old one, and hitherto all
its ghostly appointments had been strictly correct
and according to proper fashion and precedent.
In course of time, it is true, they had grown
so numerous as to make the house difficult to
live in, for persons of any nerves but the
strongest, and in the end they had caused the
place to stand empty for some years ; but there
was nothing irregular — everything was perfectly
in good form and (blessed phrase) comme il faut.
There were :

Rappings.

Rumblings.

Shrieks with bumps.

Shrieks plain.

Furniture ill-used.

Ghosts with large eyes.
Do. without heads.

Heads with nothing else.

Eyes unappropriated.

Demoniac laughter.

A smell of Sulphur.

Do. Brimstone (without treacle).
All being, as you will perceive, phenomena
of well-established respectability and proved
credence, as the learned are aware, from the

1 80

THE CHAMBER OF LIGHT

writings of Cornelius Agrippa and Mr. Stead.
There were other manifestations also, a little
outside the limits of the regular schedule, though
not so far from it as the strange light in the
east wing. Thus it was testified by Mrs. Emma
Skinner, a charwoman employed to clean the
premises, that on shortly returning to a room
where she had just completed her work, she
found mysterious inscriptions scrawled with the
points of ghostly fingers on windows, sideboards,
mantelpiece, floor, walls — and in short wherever
she had forgotten to dust, and that mocking
laughter followed her as she fled in terror, the
sounds intensifying to an appalling uproar, in
the midst of which the horrified Emma believed
she could distinguish her own Christian name,
preceded by the exclamation " Whoa ! " as though
to call her back. Needless to say she did not
pause in her flight, and arrived at last at the
house of Mr. Benton, the agent for the property,
breathless, and only so far capable of speech as
to demand brandy and water and a week's pay
in lieu of notice.

As to the more regular phenomena there were
scores of people who could testify to hearing
noises, and dozens who had seen the ghosts ;
white ladies, misty old gentlemen in wigs and
top-boots, at least one white man in armour ;

181

GREEN GINGER

and there were several shapes of animal form.
Indeed the last appearance recorded, on the
authority of Mr. Wilkins, dairyman and pur-
veyor of milk in the adjoining village, was of
this character.

It appears that Mr. Wilkins, learning that
Missel Hall was let at last, entered the grounds
and approached the main door with the intention
of leaving his business card on the step. Arrived
on the spot, however, he found that the door
had been left ajar, probably by the neglect of
somebody who had been engaged in preparing
the house for the reception of the new tenants.
He entered, therefore, with the idea of leaving
the card on a mantelpiece, where it would be
more likely to attract notice.

The evening was closing in, but it was not
yet dusk. Mr. Wilkins was in a perfectly calm
frame of mind, not in any way predisposed to
hallucination, being intent, indeed, on the recent
scandalous price of turnips. He entered the
nearest room, deposited his card on the mantel-
piece, and was turning to go, when his attention
was arrested by three distinct raps apparently
coming from the wall behind him. He turned
quickly, and beheld what seemed to be a light
vapour, or steam, rising in the form of a column
in the darkest corner of the room. It rose and

182

THE CHAMBER OF LIGHT

thickened till it attained the size, as he afterwards
expressed it, of a sixteen-gallon churn. Then this
misty column suddenly fell forward in his direction,
causing him to back hurriedly to the door. For
the next few minutes Mr. Wilkins wholly forgot
the price of turnips, for his whole mind and
emotions were engaged in the fearful contempla-
tion of one of the strangest phenomena recorded
in the history of the supernatural.

The column fell forward, as I have said, and
Mr. Wilkins gazed spellbound at the sight
before him. For the misty body, a column no
longer, continued to increase in size, and to assume
the general appearance of some bulky animal.
Larger and still larger it grew, till it had surpassed
the size of a sheep and even that of a calf, and
the paralysed beholder was aware, not only of
indications of a tail, but of horns, and between
the horns of a gradual growth of two distinct
luminous points. With this last horror, the eyes,
the spell was broken, and with a tearing effort
Mr. Wilkins sprang through the doorway and
ran, pursued by the monstrous phantom. He
ventured to glance over his shoulder, however,
as he reached the step of the outer door, and
it seemed that already the spectre had begun to
diminish in size. No longer did it seem of the
bulk, and somewhat of the aspect, of a cow, but

'83

GREEN GINGER

to be gradually resuming its former shape — a
column.

Somewhat recovering his courage, Mr. Wilkins
continued to run across the drive, till another
glance over his shoulder assured him that the
apparition had ceased to pursue him, and was
now standing stationary, and shrinking, on the
terrace. Mr. Wilkins dodged behind a convenient
shrub and turned at bay. Truly indeed the
appearance was fast diminishing. The horrible
eyes were gone, only one horn remained, and the
body had shrunk to a mere erect column, the
height of a man. But the tail hung unaltered,
stiffly dependent behind. Still the change went
on before Mr. Wilkins's astonished eyes, till, with
a gasp of amazed recognition, he found himself
gazing at a spectral pump.

With that his courage returned, and he emerged
from his concealment ; for to a respectable dairy-
man, who sees to the cleanliness of his premises,
no object is more familiar than a pump, and
there is nothing in the world he is less afraid
of. But as Mr. Wilkins advanced, extending
his hand, by familiar habit, toward the pump-
handle, so the ghostly object faded and thinned
away to nothing, and Mr. Wilkins found himself
standing alone, in the gathering gloom, before the
door of the haunted house.

184

THE CHAMBER OF LIGHT

Nothing more was observed till the new tenants
were completely installed. The moving in was
accompanied by many strange noises, however, and
although noises are common enough, indeed un-
avoidable, in any house-moving, the noises heard
on this occasion were altogether unusual. There
were no rappings nor dragging of chairs, and
there was not anywhere a suggestion of laughter,
demoniac or otherwise ; but everybody agreed that
the shrieks were terrible and pitiful to hear.

Fortunately the new tenants did not arrive
till the disturbances had ceased ; for Mr. Benton,
the agent, with a courteous regard for their nerves
pleasant to meet in these ungallant days, had
refrained from mentioning the little drawbacks
from which Missel Hall suffered, and as the
Quilters came from London they had no other
means of learning.

The whole of the active Quilter family was
female, consisting of a mother and five daughters.
The remaining member was Mr. Quilter, an
elderly and obese gentleman who slept between
meals and was not observed to pursue any more
exciting occupation. The ladies could not be
called obese — unless you wished to be impolite
to Mrs. Quilter — and they wore curious sack-
shaped clothes. Their eyes were very earnest
and their hair was not very long and not very

185

GREEN GINGER

short, but very touzly and very red. They
decorated and furnished the house — filled it top
and bottom, except for one little unconsidered
room — with wonderful furniture and amazing
wall-papers, all of a sort that I have heard called
the product of the New Art. The chairs were
made of square oak planks, with stencil-holes
like fireworks in their backs. All the tables
straddled their legs wide to snare the feet
of the heedless. There was a sideboard with
pewter rockets inlaid all over it, and a balloon
of blue enamel at the summit of each rocket.
The dining-room was papered with a cheerful
pattern of green stag-beetles a foot long, with
yellow legs, crawling perpendicularly up a rich
crimson ground. The drawing-room, on the
other hand, was of a bold yellow tint, dotted at
wide intervals with very elegant brown cauliflowers,
each with a graceful fringe of curly tentacles,
like the legs of an octopus, reaching out to its
neighbour. Curly tentacles, in fact, formed the
chief motive of all the decoration — tentacles with
flaccid curves like those of an expiring boa-
constrictor.

The tentacles were everywhere. They drooped
and crawled over a pewter clock with three bowed
legs and a square face on the morning-room
mantelpiece. They squirmed so thick on the lids

186

THE CHAMBER OF LIGHT

of the silver toilet-boxes on the dressing-tables
that I have seen nothing like it since I went
fishing as a little boy, with worms in a canister.
You found yourself unconsciously prancing on
tip-toe across the wriggling carpet — instinctive
survival of man's primeval repulsion from the
serpent. The tentacles came at you round corners,
threatened you from behind doors — wormed about
on your dinner-plate. On any piece of furniture
you might choose to handle you would find
unexpected projections and surprising outworks,
each with its curly tentacle, and probably a piece
of inexplicable copper or pewter, with tentacles
of its own. And through it all Mr. Quilter slept
undisturbed, and his daughters played on a green
oak piano with pewter pot-hooks and hangers
lovingly inlaid all over it, and all was peace and
New Art.

And now, with the advent of the Quilter family,
the whole supernatural history of Missel Hall
culminated in the amazing spectacle of the
Luminous Room. No more did mysterious
noises and strange sights disturb the repose of
the dwellers, but that strange pale light shone out
from the high attic, otherwise empty, and declared
the ghostly fame of Missel Hall to every watcher
of the night.

At first the Quilters — except Mr. Quilter, who
187

GREEN GINGER

was asleep — were seriously disturbed by the dis-
covery ; and ere long, as was natural, their anxious
inquiries brought them information of the earlier
history of their house. But days and nights
went on and nothing occurred to justify their
fears — there was nothing but that weird light in
the empty attic, which gave them no inconvenience
at all. So that soon they grew rather proud of
the phenomenon, and brought their friends to see
it. One or two bold spirits among these friends
ventured into the luminous chamber by night ; and
the reports of each visit agreed precisely with the
others. The strange light pervaded the whole
room — all agreed on this point. It was like no
light any witness had ever seen ; persons standing
in it were plainly enough visible to each other,
but with a pallor and a certain dimness of outline
that admitted but of one description : they looked
like ghosts. Indeed it would seem as though the
illumination did not consist of light, as human
experience knows it, but rather of something
which not only lighted persons and objects in the
room but also interposed between them.

Withal, it cast no shadow. This was, perhaps,
its most remarkable quality. If one carried a
candle into the room the objects it lighted cast
their shadows in a natural way, though, of course,
owing to the pervading luminousness the shadows

188

THE CHAMBER OF LIGHT

were very feeble. But without any such artificial
light no shadow was thrown, of anything, any-
where. The light, whatever it was, was all-
pervading. And whatever it was it so affected
the atmosphere that it was difficult to breathe
therein.

The Misses Quilter became ardent spiritualists.
They brought expert friends from London, who
arranged seances in the astonishingly furnished
rooms, and accomplished nothing. The failure
was unprecedented, and the experts were wholly
at fault. Not a table would move, not a mark
would appear on a slate — and that in this ancient
haunt of spectres, Missel Hall ! The science
of spiritualism was shaken to its foundations.

After much anxious consultation the experts
resolved on a fresh expedient, and thereby made
possible one of the most curious demonstrations
recorded in the history of their craft. At the
head of a small sheet of paper the question was
written : What causes the light in the east wing
attic ? This paper, with a pencil, was enclosed
in a small box, and the box was placed inside the
lighted room and there left, with the door shut.

At the end of ten minutes the box was with-
drawn, and, the paper being examined, it was
found to carry below the question the almost
illegibly scrawled word : Terror.

189

GREEN GINGER

A fresh paper was prepared, with the amended
question : IV hat is the light ?

By the same process, and after a similar interval,
another reply was elicited. This time it read,
somewhat ungrammatically : Only us. Crowded
like — (remainder illegible).

This reply caused much interest and excitement
among the experts. A fresh question was prepared
and answered, and others after that, as are
transcribed below.

Question. — Do you mean you are the ghosts that
haunt this house ?

Answer. — Yes. We apologize. Take them away
(illegible words follow).

Q. — Please answer more clearly.

A. — Take them away. We are squashed into
a mass and terrified to death. We really do
apologize !

Q. — For what do you apologize ?

A. — Everything. Anything. Only take them
away. We apologize for haunting this house and
frightening people. We will never do it again ;
we have been frightened too much ourselves.
We've all gone through a good deal> but never
anything like this. We can t stand it. There s
only this room left, and we are crowded solid. We
dare not come out. It is terrible.

Q. — What terrifies you ?
190

THE CHAMBER OF LIGHT

A. — All of it ! Furniture! Snakes! Fireworks!
Cauliflowers ! Tentacles ! Curly wigs / Jim-jams !
Sacks and touzly wigs ! Pray do something for
us.

Q. — Wtiat must we do ?

A. (an almost undecipherable mass of ragged
scrawls, apparently from many different hands in
all sorts of directions on both sides of paper). — Take
them away . . . 'Benton . . . raise rent . . . Apologi-ze.
. . . Never frighten people any more. . . . Know
what it is ourselves now . . . never expected this.
. . . Worse things than us. . . . Help ! Police !
. . . (rest wholly illegible).

These mysterious words are all the explanation
extant of the amazing phenomenon of the Luminous
Room. Answers to succeeding questions were
wholly unreadable, and in the end the experts
gave up their attempts to unravel the mystery.

It is a fact, nevertheless, that since the Quilters
have left Missel Hall (they have been gone six
months now) the strange light has wholly dis-
appeared from the attic, and it has not been
followed by any of the more ordinary terrors which
preceded it ; a fact that, it is said, will shortly
be cited in a paper to be read before a spiritualistic
congress, and adduced as a proof that ghosts may
be relied on to keep their promises, even when
extorted under stress of deadly terror.

191

Mr. Bostock's Backsliding

IT is a terribly easy thing to fall into — imper-
* ceptibly to glide into — evil-doing ; and once
embarked on the slippery descent, there is no
telling how low one may descend. This, the
moral of the story of Mr. Bostock, is, in ac-
cordance with modern practice, placed at the
beginning of the story instead of at the end,
which our grandfathers considered the proper
place. Nowadays we get the moral over and out
of the way as soon as possible, and find it good
riddance.

Mr. Bostock was a person of that peculiar
stainlessness which is only to be observed in a
London suburb of the highest respectability,
always in association with the precisely correct
clothes for every occasion, and a comfortable in-
come derived somehow from the City. He was
no longer young, nor slim, and his large, clean-
shaven countenance carried the heavy portentous-
ness noticeable in the Strictly Proper. Regularity,
Propriety, Serene Importance — these words could

192

MR. BOSTOCK'S BACKSLIDING

be traced across his white waistcoat and his pink
face as distinctly as though spelt in printed letters ;
and Severe Respectability shone like a halo from
the high polish of his crown.

Every admirer of the female sex — every dis-
criminating person, in other words — will at once
perceive that there was a Mrs. Bostock to whom
much or all of this perfection was due ; indeed,
the ribald of his suburb ascribed Mr. Bostock's
correctitude to simple terror of his wife. This
was the slander of vulgar malice, of course, but
it is a fact that Mrs. Bostock was a lady well
fitted to inspire terror in the unregenerate ; and
those whom she regarded as her social inferiors —
which meant very nearly everybody — had reason
to quail before her overbearing majesty.

Twenty-four years of training under Mrs.
Bostock's severe eye had endowed Mr. Bostock
with the shining qualities so vastly respected in
his suburb, and of late her supervision had been
reinforced by that of their two daughters, now
grown up. It may be that it is not permitted
to mere man to receive a greater share of this
sort of blessing than can be conferred by an
energetic wife and one full-grown daughter ; that
the gradual accession of assistance from another
daughter, as she reaches womanhood, will over-
come the fortitude of the most respectable. It

193 o

GREEN GINGER

is certain that Mr. Bostock's lapse occurred
shortly after Julia, his second daughter — now
arrived near marriageable age — had fully ranged
herself by the side of her mamma and her sister
in the direction of his comportment.

The family were staying at the seaside at the
proper period of late summer, and, of course, at
the proper place. The town is already sufficiently
well advertised, so here I shall call it Scarbourne,
which is not in the least like its real name.
Everybody will readily recognize it, however,
from the circumstance that it is the most genteel
town on the English coast, where every male
visitor positively must change all his clothes at
least three times a day, and no lady must be
seen to wear anything twice. Also, the promen-
ade is the one place for pedestrian exercise, and
the vulgar act of walking on the beach is never
condoned. No place on earth basks in a more
sacred odour of perfect respectability than this
blessed spot, with nothing to mar its bliss but
the presence of a vulgar convict prison a few
miles inland, and the fact that the approach by
railway lies through another seaside town of the
most unpardonable description, where parents
paddle on the sands among their children, and
the air resounds to the banjo and tambourine
of the nefarious nigger. It is said that the

194

MR. ROSTOCK'S BACKSLIDING

Scarbourne visitors barely forgave the King for
the proximity of His Majesty's prison, and that
only in consideration of his social position ; but
the railway company might beg forgiveness in
vain for bringing their line through Beachpool-
on-Sea.

Mr. Bostock's temptation came insidiously yet
suddenly, giving him little time for choice. There
was some expectation that the office in the City,
which provided the means for Mr. Bostock's
respectability, might require his presence for a
day or two in the midst of his vacation ; and
there was hourly expectation of a telegram from
his head clerk to call him. Mr. Bostock was
somewhat puzzled, almost shocked, to detect
himself looking forward to the receipt of the
telegram with something vastly like pleasurable
anticipation ; and with this begins the tale of
his backsliding.

A telegram did come, immediately after break-
fast on a brilliant August morning. Mr. Bostock
tore it open eagerly. It was from his chief clerk,
indeed ; but — it conveyed the news that the
matter in question had been satisfactorily settled,
and that Mr. Bostock's presence in London
would not be required. Mr. Bostock sank back
in his easy-chair in a frame of mind which he
distinctly recognized as one of gloomy dejection.

GREEN GINGER

Mrs. Bostock and her daughters were dressing
for a morning drive in the jobbed carriage that
conveyed them everywhere, except for the
promenade walk ; and as Mr. Bostock sat back
with the telegram in his hand his wife appeared,
patting and smoothing her gloves.

" Oh — that telegram has come, then," observed
Mrs. Bostock. " Then we'll ask Mrs. Berkeley
Wiggs to take your seat, and we'll drive out a
little when I've done some shopping in the town.
I suppose you'll catch the ten-thirteen ? "

Here was Mr. Bostock's temptation, and here
began his fall. " Y — yes ! " he stammered,
hastily, crumpling up the telegram and stuffing
it away in his pocket. " Yes ! I'll — I'll catch the
ten-thirteen, of course. Too late for the fast
train, of course. Of course. Yes, my dear —
I'll go off and catch the ten-thirteen. Don't
bother about me — I'll walk, or have a cab. Yes
— of course, I must catch the ten-thirteen ! "

A very easy thing, the fall of Mr. Bostock.
You will observe that he said nothing as to the
contents of the telegram — not a word. Mrs.
Bostock assumed that the message was the one
expected, and her husband merely allowed her
the assumption. Almost anybody might have
done the same thing — accidentally, as it were.
And, in fact, Mr. Bostock hardly realized what

196

MR. ROSTOCK'S BACKSLIDING

he had done till Mrs. Bostock had departed in
search of Mrs. Berkeley Wiggs ; the most recent
accession to her acquaintance, and Socially
Immense.

Even when he did fully realize the position
of affairs Mr. Bostock betrayed no symptom of
remorse. His behaviour, indeed, for the next
hour or so diverged every minute farther and
farther from the precedent set by twenty-four
years of strict regularity. He took a cab to the
railway station, and during the short ride his
demeanour so changed that the startled cabman
scarcely recognized his fare as he emerged. Mr.
Bostock's hat had settled over at a jaunty angle,
and Mr. Bostock's face had acquired a joyous,
almost a waggish, expression. A shade of
apprehension crossed it as he approached the
booking-office window and glanced nervously
about him. Then he plunged his head deep
in at the little hole, and demanded his ticket in
a voice inaudible from without. He took his
seat in the ten-thirteen train, just as he said
he would ; but — and here you may begin the
measure of Mr. Bostock's backsliding — he got
out at Beachpool-on-Sea !

Not without some nervousness and trepidation,
it is true ; for the habit of twenty-four years
is hard to shake off. But once out in the

GREEN GINGER

High Street of Beachpool, Mr. Bostock's gradual
expansion was a wonderful thing to see. He
put his hands in his trousers pockets, he put
his hat positively at the back of his head, and
at the end of the street, by the sea, he bought a
cane and swung it !

Mr. Bostock was taking a little holiday c< on
his own," as the vulgar say. How long he was
going to stay, what arrangements he should
make, and all the rest of it he had as yet thought
nothing of. Here he was, free and irresponsible,
at Beachpool, where nobody knew him, and ready
for a holiday after twenty-four years' respectability.
He went back to the shop where he bought
the cane, and there bought a pipe and an ounce
of tobacco. Mrs. Bostock had never allowed
him to smoke anything less respectable than a
cigar since they were married. Sometimes she
had even bought the cigars herself. Perhaps I
should not have mentioned this last circumstance,
since it is far from my design to arouse sympathy
for the perverted Bostock.

As for him, he grew wilder at every step
along the beach. For he walked along the sands
here like any low tripper, and once he actually
" skated " an oyster-shell along the water — not
very well. Then he stopped to listen to a group
of niggers, and even laughed — laughed aloud —

MR. BOSTOCKS BACKSLIDING

at a song about a " missis " and a mother-in-law,
and put twopence in the tambourine rather than
go away before it was finished. And as he went
on among the children digging sand and their
elders devouring fruit and buns, he burst into
little gasps of laughter at nothing whatever, and
was barely able to repress an insane desire to
dance in public. The desire grew so urgent,
indeed, that he walked straight on along the
beach, past the last of the family groups, and into
the solitude beyond. Here the cliffs began, and
the shore was strewn with large stones, which
presently gave place to boulders.

Mr. Bostock was two miles from Beachpool,
and absolutely alone with the cliff's, the boulders,
and the sea. He took a cautious glance about
him, laughed aloud twice, and burst into the
most astonishing fandango ever executed by an
elderly gentleman having no connection with
the stage. Then he plucked the hat from his
head, flung it at his feet, and kicked it over the
nearest boulder. Mr. Bostock had utterly thrown
off the mask !

He picked his hat up, however, with some
solicitude, and sat on the boulder to restore its
shape. Then he held it at arm's length and
laughed at it, loud and long. No hat of Mr.
Bostock's had endured such derision before.

199

GREEN GINGER

He clapped it on the side of his head, stuck
his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, and
gazed out over the sea, chuckling. The great
green water was beautiful and smooth and soft,
and the day was warm. Mr. Bostock had not
had a swim for years ; Mrs. Bostock did not
consider the exercise suitable to his dignity and
his years, nor, indeed, the costume to his figure.

He had no bathing costume now, but did
that really matter ? There was not a soul in
sight, nor likely to be one. The nearest person
at Beachpool was two miles off, and Scarbourne
was quite seven miles away. There was the
towel difficulty, of course ; but Mr. Bostock
had a mind above difficulties just now, and a
towel was a trifle beneath his soaring notice. As
a boy he had run about to get dry, and now
he chanced to have two big, clean pocket-handker-
chiefs. Mr. Bostock was tuned up for a wild
adventure, and this was the wildest he could think
of. He took one more look along the deserted
shore and up at the silent cliffs, and began to
pull off his clothes.

There never was such a delightful swim as
Mr. Bostock indulged in from that deserted
shore. There were cool, transparent pools among
the rocks that dotted the shore, and farther out
there was just enough motion in the water to

200

MR. BOSTOCK'S BACKSLIDING

save monotony. The air was warm and the
water of a pleasant coolness, for as yet the sun
had not brought it to its full summer-day
temperature. And all the while not a soul came
in sight along the shore. From time to time
Mr. Bostock glanced back to the solitary dark
speck among the boulders which he knew to
be his heap of clothes, and he saw it always
quite safe.

So time went, while Mr. Bostock, from time
to time floating on his back and gazing thought-
fully into the blue of the sky above, revolved
in his mind scandalous fraudulent plans for the
future, whereby forged telegrams from the
office should procure him more holidays like
this. Thus does fancied impunity embolden the
evil-doer.

Still, delightful as that swim was, Mr. Bostock
realized that he must come out of the water
sooner or later, and at length he turned and
headed for the shore, marking his course by
the little dark spot where he had left his
clothes. He came in slowly and easily, dreading
no evil. The tide had risen a little, and he
congratulated himself on getting in in time
to save his clothes a possible wetting, a danger
he had not considered, in the excitement of the
adventure. He rose from the water's edge,

201

GREEN GINGER

grasped the boulder, took two tender steps on
the shingle — and instantly rushed back into the
sea and swam off as hard as he could go.

In the whole course of his hitherto exemplary
life Mr. Bostock had never had such a shock —
such a horrible, stunning surprise. The clothes
were not his !

But this alone was a comparative trifle.
For what had sent Mr. Bostock staggering
back as from the charge of a bull, what had
propelled him headlong into the sea and set
him swimming as though the bull had turned
into a shark, was the appalling fact that he had
found himself confronted with a heap of female
garments !

There seemed to be no possible mistake. It
was a black, rusty-looking heap, with a rather
disorganized bonnet and a pair of cloth-topped
boots of the sort called "jemimas," down
at heel, bulgy at the toes, and very loose
and frilly about the elastic sides. It seemed, in
short, the outfit of the sort of elderly female
for whom the only word is "geezer."

A little way out from shore Mr. Bostock
ventured to turn about and tread water. Surely
that was the boulder on which he had left his
clothes ? They had been quite visible from the
sea, as he distinctly remembered, and now the

202

MR. ROSTOCK'S BACKSLIDING

only heap of clothes in sight was the heap he
had just fled from, lying precisely in the same
spot. There was not a soul in sight, nor any
human belonging except that heap of clothes on
the boulder. Nobody was visible on the water,
nobody on the shore. Mr. Bostock swam in a
little way, till he could stand on the sandy
bottom, with his head and shoulders above water,
and then, remembering the expedient of Mr.
Pickwick in the wrong bedroom at Ipswich,
called out very loudly, " Ha — hum ! "

Mr. Bostock waited for an answer, but heard
nothing but the sea, and saw nothing but that
and the shore and the dark heap of clothes before
him.

There was certainly not another pile of clothes
anywhere in sight, and Mr. Bostock, his first
fright over, began to grow very anxious. He
walked a step or two farther in and called again,
this time very loudly indeed, " Ha — hum ! "
And then, when no sound answered him, he
proceeded — " Anybody there ? "

Nobody was there, it would seem, so presently
Mr. Bostock, staring wildly and anxiously in all
directions, crept out of the water again. Was
it possible that his eyes had deceived him ?

No ; the clothes were exactly what he had
taken them to be, and no others were in sight.

203

GREEN GINGER

He snatched hastily at a grubby old plaid shaw
that crowned the heap, and, wrapping it about
him, began to explore the beach.

It was all useless. Nobody was near him,
and not a scrap of his own clothing was to be
seen. Mr. Bostock's mind did not work with
great rapidity, but now that he had got dry
by his boyhood's method of running about the
beach, with some assistance from the grubby plaid
shawl, he realized that he was faced by the dread-
ful prospect of returning to civilization disguised
as a " geezer."

He lifted the shabby garments gingerly, and
shuddered. They had that peculiar gritty grimi-
ness that makes any sensitive person shudder,
and they smelt damp, like a rag-shop. Mr.
Bostock shrank and groaned, but there was no
help for it. With an infinitude of shivers and
squirms he began to put them on.

He felt about the skirt for pockets, and grew
conscious of a new terror. There was a pocket
— a torn, clammy bag dangling by one corner —
and it was empty ! In the pockets of Mr.
Bostock's vanished suit were nearly ten pounds
in gold and silver, a pocket-book with several
notes in it, a gold watch and chain, and some
other valuables, to say nothing of his railway-
ticket. He broke into a cold sweat. Not only

204

MR. BOSTOCK'S BACKSLIDING

must he go among his fellow-creatures as a
" geezer," but as a " geezer " absolutely penni-
less !

The prospect was more terrible than anything
Mr. Bostock had imagined in his life. He broke
into a fit of savage indignation at the callous
depravity of the wretched female who had stolen
his clothes, and must now be masquerading in
them as a man — in itself a scandalous offence
against the law. And at that reflection Mr.
Bostock's distress became, if possible, still more
acute. For it struck him that he too, arrayed
in the horrible clothes he was struggling with,
would be committing the same scandalous offence,
and liable to the same penalty !

At length the dismal toilet was complete, and
Mr. Bostock, miserable enough, but ignorant
even now of the amazing figure he was making
by reason of his unskilful management of the
unaccustomed garments, addressed himself to the
next step. Beachpool was two miles in one
direction, Scarbourne more than seven the other
way. Pulling nervously at the strings of the
battered bonnet, which all too scantily covered
his lack of tresses, he turned first one way and
then the other. Which way should he go ?

The rising tide answered the question for him.
Long before he could traverse the seven rocky

205

GREEN GINGER

miles under the cliffs he would be caught by
the tide ; so perforce he turned back to Beach-
pool. He did it with some vague sense of
relief, too, for he had not yet invented a means
of dodging Mrs. Bostock. He did not even
know where she might be encountered. The
capture of Mrs. Berkeley Wiggs had been the
object of some ambition, and now that it was
effected, Mrs. Bostock would probably keep her
as long as possible — for a drive inland — to lunch
— anything convenient. But even supposing Mrs.
Bostock safely out of the way, how could her
wretched husband possibly enter the select board-
ing establishment undetected in the guise of a
" geezer " ?

The way to Beachpool was filled with per-
plexity, and Mr. Bostock grew desperate as he
went. What could he do ? Whose help could
he ask ? Who would lend money to an appar-
ently and obviously disreputable old woman, who
told a cock-and-bull tale of being a gentleman
of substance, much respected in the City, in
need of a little temporary assistance ? The very
best he could hope for from such a course was
that inquiries would be made, which was the
last thing he wanted ; for, in his mind's eye, he
saw the terrible figure of Mrs. Bostock, stern,
suspicious, and incredulous, standing at the other

206

MR. BOSTOCK'S BACKSLIDING

end of those inquiries. But it would be far
more likely that he would be given in charge
of the police straightway.

Mr. Bostock was convinced that to beg would
not only be difficult, but useless ; and in his
dire extremity he began to consider the possibility
of stealing — of stealing clothes, money, anything
that would get him out of this horrible mess.
So low had the principles of the hitherto blame-
less Mr. Bostock been brought in the course of a
mere hour or two from his first tiny, almost
involuntary, departure from the path of rectitude.
(Refer to moral, ut supra.]

As a man of business it had, of course, occurred
to him to wire to his office for a telegraphic
money-order, to be sent to the nearest post-
office. But, as a man of business also, he re-
membered that any person applying for the
money must produce complete proof of his
identity. Proof of his identity in this amazing
rig ! But, to begin with, the telegram to the
office must cost at least sixpence. And where
was the sixpence ?

And so Mr. Bostock crept into Beachpool in
a very different state of mind from that in which
he had left it ; meditating theft. He was ready
to steal the pennies from a blind man's hat.
Indeed, he would have preferred that proverbial

207

GREEN GINGER

form of larceny before any other, from its
comparative safety and simplicity ; but blind men
have far too little in their hats.

He slunk about the back streets, sweating with
terror at the notice he was attracting. It was
only because of his clean-shaven face that he
had dared to come into the town at all, and
now he began to wish himself back on the empty
beach. But something must be done, and des-
peration forced him far beyond his natural
courage, which was not very great. He found
himself in a street leading directly into the High
Street, and straight before him in the High Street
was a cheap tailor's, where dummy figures, labelled
" This style, thirty shillings," stood by the door.

No peri ever gazed at the portals of Paradise
with half the ardent longing with which Mr.
Bostock stared at the door of that cheap tailor's
shop. Very gladly would he have given a cheque
for fifty pounds for one of those shoddy suits
and a ticket to London. He had no cheque-
book, and if he had, what would any sane tailor
think of such a proposition from a disreputable-
looking old woman ?

But the shop, with its possible salvation, at-
tracted him. Perhaps he might make an arrange-
ment with the tailor. He drew nearer, eyeing
the dummies at the door with an affectionate

208

MR. BOSTOCK'S BACKSLIDING

interest which might well have aroused the notice
of any observer, and, in fact, did attract the
attention of the shopkeeper, lurking like a spider
in the recesses of his shop. Even in his present
excitement, Mr. Bostock was sane enough to see
the impossibility of either stealing a suit off a
dummy, or eloping with the dummy complete,
clothes and all, under his arm. But as he neared
the doorway he could not resist the impulse to
extend his hand to the coveted garments ; and
at that moment the shopkeeper appeared.

He was a shiny, stout, frock-coated Jew, and
he said, very peremptorily : " Here, vat you vant ?
Out o' dis here ! "

Mr. Bostock thrust all his resolution into his
voice ; it was a rather large, round, rolling voice,
very impressive from a confident middle-aged
gentleman in the right clothes, but startlingly
out of character with his present outfit.

" I — ah — wish to see you privately on a matter
of business," said Mr. Bostock.

" Ah, I dessay," replied the shopkeeper ; " ve
got nodden to give avay here. Hook it, missis ;
sharp ! "

*' But I assure you — if you will only listen "

" Got no dime to stand talkin' mit you. If
you vont go — then pht ! B'leesman ! "

Mr. Bostock had not noticed that two police-
209 p

GREEN GINGER

men were inspecting him with some curiosity
from the nearest corner. Now he saw them
with a sudden twinge of alarm, and straightway
began a hurried retreat across the road.

" Hi ! You there ! Here — come here ! "
cried one of the policemen, starting smartly after
him.

At that Mr. Bostock lost all hold of his wits,
and, snatching up his skirts in both hands, ran
madly up the street he had come by, followed
by both the policemen and the beginnings of a
joyful crowd.

With no more thought of disguise, no more
plans or schemes, nothing but a frantic desire
to get away, anywhere, anyhow, Mr. Bostock
scampered up one narrow street and down an-
other, with a gathering hunt behind him. The
bonnet dangled over his shoulders by the strings
round his neck, and the bulgy " jemimas"
threatened to fly off his feet as he ran. Blind
instinct taught him to turn each corner as he
came to it, and so keep out of view of his
pursuers as much as possible ; and fortunately
his way led him through the old town, where
the fishermen's alleys favoured his flight. But
Mr. Bostock was a poor runner, and it was the
mere spur of terror that kept him ahead. He
caught at a post and swung into a street leading

210

MR. ROSTOCK'S BACKSLIDING

down to the sea, and as he did it he met a gust
of wind that took the bonnet clean away up the
street behind him. There was an alley to the
right, and into that he plunged, bonnetless and
somewhat bald ; and farther still, growing slower
and more "blown " as he went, till he emerged
at the back of a row of unfinished houses in the
outskirts of the town. And here he trod on a
brickbat, which twisted the "jemima " sideways on
his foot and flung him headlong.

He could run no more. His little remaining
breath was clean knocked out of him, and he
lay where he fell, beaten and done for. But
presently, as the first shock of the fall wore off,
he became aware that the noise of pursuit had
ceased, and that, as a fact, he was alone behind
the unfinished houses, and comparatively safe.
The lost bonnet had saved him, for the hunters
naturally kept on up the street along which they
found the thing bowling, and so off on the wrong
track.

Mr. Bostock climbed painfully to his feet, and
crawled, panting, behind a broken fence. Why
he had been chased with such persistence he could
not divine, but, at any rate, it was clear that he
must get out of Beachpool with no more delay.
He put the plaid shawl over his head, and made
shift to pull the rest of his dress into some sort

211

GREEN GINGER

of order. Then he started out, with much timid
reconnoitring, to tramp to Scarbourne by road.

There was nothing else to be done. He must
approach the back way to the select boarding
establishment, and take one of the servants,
who might recognize him, into his confidence.
He would promise anything — a sovereign, five
pounds, whatever the girl asked — to be smuggled
in during the absence of his family. It was a
difficult expedient, but the only one. And with
this last resort in view Mr. Bostock began his
nine miles' tramp.

He went with the greatest caution till he was
well clear of Beachpool, and even then only
ventured to walk his best — which was not very
good, for he was mightily tired already — when
nobody was in sight. Twice he stopped to
extract small pebbles from the "jemimas," which
had cracks convenient for their admission ; and
then, as he approached the confines of a village,
he stopped for a more peremptory reason still.
For there was a bounce from the hedge behind
him, a pair of stalwart arms clasped him round,
and a loud voice shouted by his ear : " Here
he be, sergeant ! I got him ! Sergeant !
Sergeant ! "

Struggles were unavailing, for the arms clipped
him firmly just above the elbow, and the affrighted

212

MR. BOSTOCK'S BACKSLIDING

Mr. Bostock perceived that they were encased
in blue sleeves, with an armlet ; at the same
moment a hatless policeman came running from
a cottage by the wayside and seized him in front.
u Get the handcuffs, sergeant ! He be a
desprit char'cter ! " bawled the voice in the
captive's ear.

u All right — we won't stand to none of his
despritness here," replied the sergeant, dexter-
ously seizing Mr. Bostock by the wrist and
collar. " Come along, you ! "

" I — I — I've had my clothes stolen ! " gasped
Mr. Bostock.

"Had yer— ha ! ha! That's a good 'un,"
cried the sergeant. " Had his clothes stole ! "

" Ha ! ha ! " echoed the other captor, catching
Mr. Bostock's other arm ; " that be a moighty
good 'un, sergeant ! "

" But I have, I tell you ! " desperately wailed
the victim.

" All right, me fine feller," grimly responded
the sergeant ; " you needn't make a song about
them clothes. We've got 'em 'ere for ye all
right. Come along ! "

A flash of perplexed hope confused Mr.
Bostock's faculties, and then, as he was led
toward the cottage, a slatternly old woman
appeared at the door.

213

GREEN GINGER

" Yes ! " cried the old woman shrilly, " that's
the blaggard right enough. That's my shawl
over his 'ed ! An' my other frock ! An' my
boots ! An' — an' what ha' ye done with my
bonnet, you low thief? Sergeant, he's been an'
sold my best bonnet ! "

** What ? " cried Mr. Bostock. " Are these
things yours ? "

" Course they are, impidence ! Comin' into
people's 'ouses a-night an' stealin' wittles,

» M

" Then I give that woman in charge ! " inter-
rupted Mr. Bostock. " She's stolen my clothes,
and ten pounds, and a pocket-book, and my
watch and chain ! "

At this the old woman spluttered with rage,
and the two policemen guffawed aloud. " You're
a gay 'un, you are ! There ain't no watch-
pocket in them clothes ! You shall have 'em,
my boy — we're a-goin' to put 'em on ye afore
we take ye back. Here y'are ! "

With these words Mr. Bostock was forced
in at the door of the cottage, and so to a room
at the back.

" Here's yer clothes, my hearty," proceeded
the sergeant ; " and precious glad you'll be to
get into 'em again, I don't think. Come along ! "

With that he shut the door behind them, and
214

MR. BOSTOCK'S BACKSLIDING

presented to Mr. Bostock's astounded eyes — a suit
of drabbish yellow, decorated with black " broad
arrows " ! Nothing but the uniform of the convict
prison !

Mr. Bostock stared wildly. Was this some
frenzied nightmare, or was he really stark mad ?

He gabbled incoherently. " No, no — stole my
clothes— bathing — not them — name of Bostock —
refer to my bankers — no — it's all a mistake ! "
And then he stopped, with open mouth, as the
state of the case dawned on him slowly.

Some wretched convict had escaped and left
these things. He had entered the cottage in
the night for food, had gone off disguised in
the only clothes he could find, and had wandered,
hiding in lonely places, till he had reached the
sea-shore. And then he had made another change,
at Mr. Bostock's expense !

And, indeed, that was exactly what had
happened. And the curiosity of the police at
Beachpool, the chase, and now the final capture
— all were due to that invaluable invention, the
telephone.

" Come along — into 'em ! " urged the sergeant,
with the horrible clothes in his hand. " You was
precious anxious about 'em just now. Or shall
we shove 'em on for ye ? "

" No, no, I tell you — it's a mistake. Take
215

GREEN GINGER

me to Scarbourne — no, wire to Cornhill ! I'll
give you five pounds — ten — fifty ! " Poor Mr.
Bostock struggled to his feet and feebly made
for the door.

The succeeding quarter of an hour is too
painful for description. But at its expiration
Mr. Bostock was led forth in convict garb —
it was very tight, but in the flush of their
triumph the village police force of two suspected
nothing from that — and pushed into a light cart
with a fast horse, in presence of the whole
population of the village. All that his struggle
had gained for him was the distinction and
interest, in the popular eye, of being very firmly
handcuffed.

The horse was whipped up and the village
was left behind, which at any rate was some
relief. Twenty minutes' smart drive brought
the party within distant sight of Scarbourne, and
within very near sight of an open carriage,
which they rapidly overtook. Mr. Bostock's
disorganized faculties were barely beginning to
rearrange themselves, but he did recognize that
carriage, and the people in it. With a gasp he
slid off the seat, to hide himself in the bottom
of the cart.

"Hold up!" exhorted the constable, hauling
at his arm. " Sergeant ! he's tryin' to hide from

216

MR. BOSTOCK'S BACKSLIDING

them ladies in the carriage ! P'r'aps he's had
somethink o' theirs ! "

The sergeant gazed down on the cowering
form, and then gave the horse an extra flick.
" P'r'aps he has," he said. " We'll ask 'em."

And thus it came about that Mr. Bostock,
grimy, bruised, handcuffed, and bedizened with
broad-arrows, was hauled up from the bottom
of the cart and presented for identification to
the horrified gaze of Mrs. Bostock, Miss Bostock,
Miss Julia Bostock, Mrs. Berkeley Wiggs, and
the coachman on the box.

After that nothing mattered. The handsome
apologies of the prison governor were a mockery,
for Mr. Bostock would have preferred to stay
with him.

217

The House of Haddock

OBOSHOBERY DOVE hauled at the twist-
•V knotted cord by his side till his enormous
silver watch emerged from its fob. According
to immemorial ritual he banged the long-suffering
timepiece three times edgewise on the socket
of his wooden leg, clapped it to his ear, and
finally looked at the face, comparing it with
that of the old sun-dial over the church door
behind us.

u 'Taren't to be judged the sun's nigh two
hours out, so 'tis like it may be the watch," he
said. " An' none so much out, nayther, con-
siderin'. 'Tis a wunnerful good watch for all its
an oad 'un."

" Your father's, wasn't it? " I asked, indolently.

" My father gave n" pun' for that watch,
sir, at Foulness, before eighteen hundred." For
this conversation took place a good many years
ago, when I was a very young person and
Roboshobery Dove was not so many years short
of ninety, tough old fellow as he was. "He gave

218

THE HOUSE OF HADDOCK

fi' pun' for it of a man whose father had been
a genelman once."

We were sitting on the tombstone before the
church door ; the tombstone that had served so
many purposes since it had ceased, by reason of
illegibility, to keep its charge as a memorial.
For it was scored and worn by scythe-blades, it
made a convenient waiting-place opposite the
church door and the dial, and, if you turned your
back on the church, as we had done, you looked
out upon what always seemed to me the most
wonderful view on earth ; over the tumbling
roofs of the little town below and so across the
five miles' width of sea that makes the outer gate
of the Thames. It was said that the level stone
had had other uses too ; it had been found
adapted to certain profane games, in which buttons
and halfpennies had their parts ; but that was in
the old days, before people were all good.

" Ay," repeated Roboshobery Dove, " his father
had been a genelman once, an' his father before
him, in Foulness, like others I could tell."

" The Doves, eh ? " I suggested.

" That I won't say, sir, though true 'tis I was
christened after Roboshobery Dove as fit for King
Charles agin Crom'ell. ' 'Tis arl a possibility,'
says the parson to my father, ' that you be
descendants, an' 'tis a fine handsome name.' An"

219

GREEN GINGER

so he christened me. That were Master Ellwood.
He were a parson o' th' oad sort, were he.
Wore silver buckles to his breeches, an' slep'
in his wig ; an' his walkin' stick were five foot
long."

I had heard Roboshobery so describe Parson
Ellwood more than once before ; and experience
told me that the old seaman was groping his
mind for a story. So I waited.

u Speakin' o' oad families come down, an'
likewise speakin' o' Crom'ell," he said at length,
" folk'll tell 'ee mostly, when things is broke in
a church, as 'twere Crom'ell's sogers did it. Least-
ways that's what ye hear in these parts. But
'taren't so — not allus. You know the Haddock
monument in the church, with the head off?
Well I count they'll lay that to Crom'ell's sogers,
but 'tweren't. I knew the oad soger as did that,
an' he were none o' Crom'ell's ; far from a soger
at all, sarten to say. I'll tell 'ee his courtin' tale,
if you like."

" A courting tale ? That's new. You never
told me one of your own."

Roboshobery Dove closed one bright blue eye
for a full quarter of a minute. " Bin a bacheldor
all my life," he said. Then he opened the closed
eye and shut the other.

" Very well," I said. " Go on."

220

THE HOUSE OF HADDOCK

"The Haddock as that monument was to,"
Dove proceeded, " was him as built the alms-
houses. It were a big family once — admirals an'
knights an' what not : but the one as left the
alms-houses were nayther, though a rich man, 'tis
doubtless. I dunno how many years 'tis since
they were rich, but I count it's hundreds ; an'
now there's none on 'em, rich or poor."

So much I had myself read in the county
history, where the family, once the greatest in
these parts, was noted as extinct.

" There's no more of 'em," the old man
pursued, " an' I knowed the last. He were a
long way from knight or admiral, or even rich
man, though he were a bit of a miser in his way.
Jim Haddock were his name — oad Jim Haddock,
as mostly called — an' he got his livin' one way
an' another with a bit o' field-work here an' there
an' a bit o' higglin' in between, him keepin' fowls.
His father before him had been a hedger, and
his gran'father too, like as not ; but oad Jim
couldn't forget as the family had been gentry
once, an' he didn' let nobody else forget it,
nayther. The taproom weren't good enough for
he ; he'd sit in the parlour o' the Ship here, or
the Castle, up at Hadleigh, an' wait to be asked
to drink. If nobody offered him rum, he'd take
sixpenny ale — nothin' lower. An' he'd sniff over

221

GREEN GINGER

the pot an' screw his mouth, like as 'twere an
insult he were swallerin'.

" ' 'Tis a wicked thing to think on,' he'd say,
* me here drinkin' six-ale as was born by rights
to be drunk on port wine every night o' my
life, like any other genelman. Ah well ! Human
greatness be a passin' show ! ' But he'd go on
a-sniffin' an' drinkin' the sixpenny just as long
as you'd go on payin' for it, an' longer. An'
the next man 'ud hear a deal of his mighty
grievance agin you, because 'tweren't better drink.

" When he sold ten eggs once an' got three-
pence for 'em, same as any other man was glad
to get in them days, he went half round the
parish with the money in his open hand before
him, callin' the world to witness his hainish
afflictions, whereby he'd a-bin give only three
dirty coppers for ten eggs, like any common feller.
He would ha' gone all round 'stead of half, but
the half-way came down on Leigh Strand there,
an' a chap three sheets in the wind fetches him
a lift under the hand with a boat-stretcher as
sent the coppers flyin' across the quay, an' he
never found more'n one of 'em.

" He never complained in that exact way
afterwards, but he complained just as much. He
got back that twopence an' a deal more, one way
an' another. He used to forget to give change

222

THE HOUSE OF HADDOCK

whenever you'd let him, an' talk wide an' noble
about the word of a genelman if you tried to putt
it right. His idea of a share in a harvestin' job
was to draw summat on account, an' then sit
on a beer-barr'l an' tell the master how the work
ote to be done, very condescendin'.

" But the wust of all his troubles, the most
hainish grievance oad Jim Haddock ever had,
were the alms-houses. It grieved him sick to
see a bit o' freehold ground an' twelve cottages
as had belonged to some great gran'father of his,
about ten times removed, bein' lived in by other
parties, an' him a-looking on an' gettin' nothen'
out on't. He thote over it an' he grieved over it,
an' he thote over it again, till at last he went to
the rector. 'Twere the rector and churchwardens,
you understand, as had the management of the
alms-houses, by will of oad Jerry Haddock.
'Twere a huntin' day when oad Jim went to the
rectory, an' the rector were waitin' for his hoss
to be brote round, an' gettin' impatient.

" f Good-morning, sir,' says oad Jim. * I been
a-thinkin' over the matter o' them alms-houses.'

ct ' Oh, you have, have you ? ' says the rector,
cockin' his eye.

" 1 1 have,' says oad Jim, very firm an' decided.
* I've been a-considerin' the matter very deep.
It seems to me as how my fam'ly has been out

223

GREEN GINGER

o' that there property long enough. I don't want
to be hard on nobody, but the circumstances o'
the fam'ly ain't what they was ; so I'm compelled
to give notice. I'll thank 'ee to clear out all
them oad parties, parson, by quarter day.'

" What the rector said ain't quite sarten. I've
heard different accounts, an' none of 'em ain't
what you might expect from a parson, these here
days. But that rector were one o' th' oad sort,
an' anyhow what he did is sarten. He took oad
Jim by the scruff o' the neck an' he runned him
out o' the rectory garden that fast that he den't
stop till he hit up agen this here churchyard fence.

" Oad Jim Haddock took it bitter unkind o'
the parson, an' complained most touchin' to every-
body as 'ud listen. 'Tweren't the way for one
genelman to treat another, he said ; the proper
way, when two genelmen couldn't agree on a
matter o' business, was to split the difference ;
an' he'd a been very well satisfied with half the
alms-houses.

" Well, he went on complainin' very woeful ;
but seein' he couldn't do no better he settled with
hisself at last to get one o' the houses in the
reg'lar way. You know what it says — it's up in
the church — about the alms-houses bein' for de-
cayed parishioners, men an' women, married an'
single. Well, oad Jim were pretty sound an'

224

THE HOUSE OF HADDOCK

able for work, an' not quite what you might look
for in an alms-house, but he reckoned his fam'ly
claims 'ud get over that. The houses were allus
full, but there were one poor oad chap named
Styles in one, about eighty-five, with a stroke
down one side an' a cough that joggled him to
bits, an' oad Jim counted his house as good as
took, in a month or two. He went in, most
wonnerful affectionate, every day, to see how poor
oad Styles were a-gettin' on, an' to slap him very
hard on the back when he coughed, an' tell him
how much wuss he was a-lookin'.

" Oad Styles lasted about a month longer than
Jim expected, but he went arter all, an' then there
was another disappointment, for instead o' oad
Jim they putt a widder into the house. Not so
partic'lar oad a widder, neither ; but she'd had
two husbands, and 'tis like they counted she
wouldn't easy get a third. But anyhow oad Jim
Haddock went half-cracked. He said a mort
of unrespectful things about oad Jerry Haddock
wasting the fam'ly substance in riotous alms-
houses, an' then he went to the rector again.
The rector den't run him out this time ; oad Jim
runned hisself when the parson grabbed his
walkin'-stick. So when he found it was no good
tryin' that way, he set out to see the widder
herself.

225 Q

GREEN GINGER

u * Good-morning Mrs. Bartrip,' say he, sniffin'
an' snuffin' an' screwin' his nose. ' Umf ! umf 1
Be you decayed ? '

" ' What ? ' says the widder, lookin' very hard
at him.

" ' I were only makin' inquiration,' says he, a
bit milder. ' The rules o' the will says decayed
parishioners, an' I felt a bit anxious about 'ee. If
so be you ben't decayed I doubt the parson '11
be after turnin' 'ee out. He be terr'ble strict, the
parson. An' the churchwardens too. 'Tis a very
serious punishment, by Parliament act, for livin'
here if you ben't decayed. But there — I make
no doubt you be 'cordin' to rules, Mrs. Bartrip.'

" ' I be 'cordin' enough to rules to stay where I
am,' says the widder.

*' ' Ah, no doubt,' says oad Jim. * The pity is
'tis knowed all over the parish. Can't help it, ye
see, livin' here, 'cordin' to rules. Though 'tain't
what a party 'ud like knowed an' talked about.
Still, no doubt 'tis what parties come to, gettin'
so far on in years.'

" ' Is't, indeed ? ' says the widder, liftin' her
chin.

" ' Ah, they do. Not that there's anythin' to
be ashamed of in a few years more or less, for
a sensible woman. When you get to sixty, ten
years here or there don't make much difference.'

226

THE HOUSE OF HADDOCK

" ' What do I know about sixty ? ' says the
widder.

" * Oh I'm not tryin' to bind ye to sixty, Mrs.
Bartrip ; far from it. Sixty or seventy makes
nothen', as I said, an' some decays later'n others.
Poor oad Styles, now, he were late. Some thote
'twere the house bein' unhealthy ; an' sarten to
say he were terr'ble bad toward the end. But
he lasted fair well, did poor oad Styles. He were
over two year here, an' I count ye might last
quite as long as that, if the house don't get no
damper. An' that wouldn't seem easy possible,
'tis sarten.'

" ' Ah ! ' says Mrs. Bartrip, * a damp house suits
me wonnerful ; allus did.'

" Well, all was for nothen'. Mrs. Bartrip
wouldn't move for pride, nor for wish to be thote
young, nor for damp. So oad Jim waited a
month an' tried her with ghosts.
f " * Good-mornin', Mrs. Bartrip,' says he. * I
wondered if you mightn't be ill, seein' a light in
your keepin' room so late last night.'

a < Light in my keepin' room ? ' says the widder.
4 Why, I weren't up after dark.'

" ' Indeed, mum ? Then it must ha' been oad
Styles agen. I've seed him about the garden
two or three nights, but I den't think best to say
nothen', you bein' a lone woman an' like as not

227

GREEN GINGER

nervous o' ghosts ; I never guessed he'd ha' gone
indoors.'

" ' I wouldn't ha' guessed it either,' says the
widder.

" * But 'tis allus that way with them alms-
houses,' says oad Jim. ' The oad parties do cling
to 'em wonnerful.'

" ' Don't blame 'em,' says the widder.

" ' It's allus been the way, mum. Allus the
way in that row o' houses. If the property had
still been in the family I'd ha' had it attended to
long ago, along with the plaster. But as it is,
there's oad Styles a-walking the house all silent
every night.'

" ' Well, that's fust-rate,' says the widder. { I
allus did like a ghost in the house, specially a
silent one. It's company, an' it don't tell no
lies.'

" Anybody but oad Jim would ha' give up the
job after that. But he never give up nothen' he
could hoad on to, an' fore long he were round at
the widder's again. This time he didn't try to
drive her out. He saw that weren't to be done,
so he split the difference (like a gentleman) an
tried to get in without. He never brought up a
word o' what had been said before, 'cept that the
widder liked company ; an' as company he
recommended hisself very strong, to say nothen'

228

THE HOUSE OF HADDOCK

of protection from ghosts. An' the end of it
was they were married.

" The parson laughed half an hour by the clock
when they went to put up the i banns, an' he con-
gratulated oad Jim Haddock on enterin' into the
ancestrial property at last. As to the weddin'
there never was no sich fanteeg in all these parts.
You wouldn't ha' believed there was half as many
tin pots in Essex. The parson he set 'em a
weddin' breakfast on his own lawn, an' had all
the rest o' the alms-house people to help eat it.
All that day they was squire an' lady, an' oad Jim
Haddock was such a swell he might ha' fancied
hisself his own great-gran'father ten times back.

" But next mornin' he were seen choppin' fire-
wood very early, which wasn't like his reg'lar habits.
What had been said or done to cause it nobody
knew, but 'twas whispered what happened when
Madam Haddock showed herself at last.

" ' Husband,' says she, sittin' easy in th' arm-
chair, f I be a decayed oad 'ooman. Wash down
that doorstep.'

" Oad Jim made fare to objeck, but she grabbed
the broom that sudden he changed his mind.
An' there began a little crowd by the door to see
oad Jim a-cleanin' a doorstep ; an' the crowd
growed an' growed for half an hour before Mrs.
Haddock were quite satisfied with the job.

229

GREEN GINGER

"Then says she, sittin' easy as ever in the
arm-chair : ' I be an oad 'ooman o' seventy,
or mayhap eighty, ten years more or less not
matter! n' ; so I need plenty o' rest. Peel you
them taters for dinner.'

" She lied the broom across her knee, handy-
like, an' oad Jim went an' did what she bid.
'Twere guessed as he'd tasted of that broom
earlier in the mornin', 'fore he chopped the
firewood. So he peeled the taters an' putt
'em in the pot, an' the bacon with 'em like as
ordered.

" Then says she : f I be such a worn-out oad
'ooman, an' this here house be that damp an'
unwholesome I ain't done no washin' since fust
the banns was putt up. Start up the copper-fire
an' go to washin' the linen.'

" So she began with him an' so she went on,
till poor oad Jim Haddock wished he'd never
been born a genelman at all. She sat all day in
the easy-chair an' never let go the broom, 'cept
she made him sweep with it. He scrubbed an'
cooked an' washed an' mended an' got nothin' by
it but chin-music an' broomstick, turn about.
An' that weren't all nayther. He had to work
outdoor as well as in. She druv him out with
his eggs an' fowls, an' she saw she got the money
too, every farden ; an' 'tween whiles she found

230

THE HOUSE OF HADDOCK

him odd jobs round about, an' drawed his wages
herself. Poor oad Jim was clean broke down,
an' hardly mentioned his ancestrial family once in
a week.

" One day the beadle's wife falls ill, an' the
rector sends round for Mrs. Haddock to go an'
sweep out the church. So she turns to oad Jim
an' says : ' There be a job o' sweepin' up to
church ; get along quick an' do it while I sit in this
here unhealthy house an' keep out the ghosts.
An' mind I don't get no complaints from parson
about it when I go up for the money in the

evenin'.'

" Well, he comes up to the church quiet an'
humble, an' meets the parson in the porch, an'
when the parson sees him, broom an' all, he laughs
nigh as much as he did before the weddin'.
' Ton my soul, 'tis too bad of her,' says the
parson, c but I dunno as you don't deserve it.
'Twouldn't be much of an admiral they'd make
o' you ! '

" Oad Jim went in an' he started sweepin'
humble an' quiet enough. But his heart were
pretty bitter in him, an' the parson's words den't
help it. So he went on a-sweepin' till he came
opposite oad Jerry Haddock's monument, an'
there were oad Jerry, his great-gran' father ten
times over, as had caused all the trouble, smilin'

231

GREEN GINGER

down at him, blind an' contempshus. That
roused oad Jim at last.

" * I dussen't strike my wife,' he says, * an' the
parson be a man o' scorn an' wrath. But you
can't hit me back,' he says. An' with that he
swings round the broom an ketches oad Jerry
Haddock sich a lift under the ear that the head
flied clean down the chancel, an' they found it in
the font next christenin' day ! "

232

A Lucifo Match

PERSONS with a choice of several names are
not common outside the peerage ; but some
of them — wholly unconnected with any peer — are
to be discovered in London crowds, though dis-
covery is not what they are there for. Crowds,
in fact, attract them, from the circumstance that
whatever the number of individuals in a crowd,
there are sure to be several times that number
of pockets, mostly with something in them ; and
a pickpocket who has once been convicted finds
a change of name a wise precaution. So we
arrive at Johnson.

It chanced that Johnson stood in quite a small
crowd — perhaps of twenty — that stared at a shop-
window in Oxford Street. He had only been
Johnson for a week, poor fellow, since emerging
from some months' retirement, and as yet the
name did not sit easily. He had to keep it
continually in mind, lest in some unforeseen
emergency he might call himself Jones, or Barker,
or Jenkinson, any one of which was dangerous,

233

GREEN GINGER

and had been discarded in its turn for that
reason ; always after just such another holiday
as that he had lately disenjoyed.

Johnson was a mild person — not at all the
sort of man whom one might suppose to be a
pickpocket — which was fortunate, of course, for
Johnson. He was a meek, rather timid body,
whose tastes would have been domestic if he
had been a family man ; and he would have
been a family man if it were not for the expense.
He was temperate, thrifty, and inoffensive ; he
shrank with horror from the idea of anything
violent, such as burglary or work ; he had no
vices, no particular abilities, and only one small
talent : he could pick a pocket very well indeed.
Altogether, Johnson was an unusually virtuous
thief.

He stood in a small crowd in Oxford Street,
as I have said, and while the small crowd stared
at the shop window because of some new idea
of the shopkeeper's, Johnson considered pockets
according to ideas of his own ; having a natural
human preference for the easiest pocket in the
most sumptuous habiliment. He felt himself
much drawn toward a man in an " immensikoff"
— a fur-lined overcoat — which was quite the most
magnificent garment in the crowd. The large
side-pocket of the " immensikoff" gaped in-

234

A LUCIFO MATCH

vitingly, and, though outside overcoat-pockets
were barren vessels as a rule, this was so very
easy that it were wasting a chance not to try
it. So Johnson placed himself against the pocket
and tried, with unexpected success.

For indeed, at the bottom of that pocket
reposed a purse — not at all what one might ex-
pect to find there. In an instant that purse was
transferred to the outside pocket, so closely
adjacent, of Johnson's light overcoat ; and then
Johnson paused for a moment, ostentatiously
scratching his cheek with the guilty hand, and
staring with rapt eyes at the window ; till he
judged it expedient to edge gently away and
evaporate from the little crowd.

He strolled easily to the next turning, turned
up it with quicker steps, and so into a quieter
cross street. Here he paused, plunged his hand
into his side-pocket, and — found it empty.

His chin fell, and he stood amazed. There
was no doubt of it — this was the pocket into
which he had dropped the purse, and now there
was nothing there. He felt in the opposite
pocket — needlessly, for he clearly remembered
working with his right hand, and with his right
side-pocket against the left pocket of the c< im-
mensikoff." There was nothing now in either of
his side-pockets, though he raked them through

235

GREEN GINGER

with anxious fingers. And then everything inside
him bounced at the sudden touch of a hand on
his shoulder. He shrank and turned, and found
himself confronted by the man in the fur-lined
coat.

The man was grinning at him with sardonic
politeness, and Johnson did not like him at all.
He was tall and broad and dark, while Johnson
was small and narrow and pale. The stranger's
black moustache was waxed into long spikes,
which pointed toward the outer edges of the flat
brim of a very tall hat, and gave a touch of
the unearthly to his grin ; and in his hand he
extended toward Johnson a metal box — Johnson's
own tobacco-box, in truth, which he now re-
membered to have left in that same side coat-
pocket.

" How de do ? " said the sardonic stranger.
" Were you feeling in your pocket for this ? "

Johnson's panic impulse was to deny his
tobacco-box utterly, but the stranger's black eyes
were piercing his very brain, and he felt it useless.
He took the box that was forced on him, and
gasped unintelligible acknowledgments. He
meant to say that he was extremely obliged, and
didn't know he had dropped it ; but he never
remembered what he did say.

" I believe some sneaking thief picked your
236

A LUCIFO MATCH

pocket," said the stranger, his grin growing
fiercer. " Open it and see if anything's missing."

Johnson began a mumble that it was all right
and of no consequence and didn't matter, but
the eyes and the satanic grin compelled him, and
he sprang the lid. Instantly there arose from
within a gigantic creature with horns, which ran
across his hand on horrid clawed legs and made
for his sleeve. Johnson squeaked like a rat, and
flung box and insect to the ground together. He
had a feminine horror of crawling things, and
had never seen a stag-beetle before.

The stranger snatched the box as it fell, and,
brushing roughly against Johnson, skilfully scooped
up the insect from the pavement.

" What ? " he said. " Do you mean to say it
wasn't yours at all ? And yet you wanted to take
it ? Is there anything else in those pockets of
yours that doesn't belong to you ? Show me ! "

" No, sir ! Nothing at all, sir, upon my
solemn davy ! " wailed Johnson in terror. For
the eyes and the grin were fiercer than ever.
<c Nothing at all, sir ! " protested Johnson, pulling
out the pocket-linings. And there, as the right-
hand pocket came inside out, emerged the
stranger's purse !

" Liar ! " cried the dark man. " Thief ! That
is my purse ! "

237

GREEN GINGER

He snatched it away and opened it, while
Johnson stood helpless in amazement, with his
pockets protruding on each side.

" See ! " pursued the stranger, thrusting the
open purse under his nose. " My purse, with
my money in it ! What about that ? "

Instinct brought a jumbled defence to Johnson's
lips. " Quite a mistake — wouldn't think of such
a thing, being a gentleman himself. Accident
that might happen to anybody — a lot of trouble
in the family lately " — and so on.

"What's your name?" snapped the stranger.
It disconcerted Johnson more than anything else
to see that this fiendish person was grinning
more than ever, while his unavoidable eyes
seemed to divine more about Johnson than even
Johnson ever knew. c< What's your name ? " he
demanded.

" Jones ! " spluttered the thief, in a panic.
" Barker ! — no, Jenkinson — I mean Johnson ! "

" Oh, I see," the stranger replied ; and now
his moustache and his grin chased each other
to the very tips of his ears. " I see ; Jones, alias
Barker, alias Jenkinson, and at present Johnson
Last conviction under the name Jenkinson, eh ? "

" 'Twasn't exactly a conviction, sir, I assure
you," protested the sweating pickpocket. " The
judge's mistake entirely — quite a misunder-

238

A LUCIFO MATCH

standing ; and the commonest watch you ever
see ; not worth a bob ! "

" And what did you get ? A year ? "

" No, sir — nothing of the kind. It's a wicked
slander, sir, when anybody says it was a year.
Not a day more than nine months, I give you
my solemn word ! "

"After a dozen previous convictions?"

" No, sir — that's another slander ; anybody as
told you that is trying to take my character
away. There wasn't more than seven, sir, or
eight at the very most. It's 'ard to be scandalized
like that, sir ! "

" Shocking ! " The stranger had slipped his
purse away and now had his hand on Johnson's
shoulder, with finger and thumb taking a good
nip of his coat-collar. " Only seven or eight
convictions ! Poor chap ; you shall have another
at once. Come along ! "

" No, indeed, sir — let me alone ! On my
solemn davy, sir, it was all a mistake ! 1 dunno
how the purse got there ! " And it surprised
Johnson to find himself offering an excuse with
such a deal of truth in it.

The stranger's grin relaxed a little, and his
voice grew more business-like. " Very well,"
he said. " Come with me for an hour and I
won't charge you. But don't you displease me,

239

GREEN GINGER

my virtuous friend ! " The grin flickered up
again. " Don't you displease me, or you'll go
back to as long a dose of gaol as I can get
for you, mind that ! You shall buy your release
on my terms. Come along ; but first stuff those
pockets in again."

Johnson obeyed, and walked by the side of
his persecutor in a maze of sickening bewilder-
ment. Could he be really awake ? The whole
thing was uncommonly like a hideous nightmare,
down to the very beetle. He had the most
distinct recollection of his shock of surprise at
finding his coat-pockets empty ; yet he had
put the purse there, and there it proved to be
after all. The thing was the more like a dream,
because his efforts to remember made it all seem
like something that had occurred a long time
ago. And he would doubtless have believed it
a nightmare and made some desperate effort to
wake himself, were it not for the fact that the
gloating stranger most palpably had him by the
arm as they walked through the back streets,
and now and again put a question of such a
pungent and penetrating nature that demanded
all Johnson's waking wits to meet it. Such wits
as Johnson had were barely sufficient for the
needs of his trade, and now they were oppressed
by a feeling that he was being " got at " in some

240

A LUCIFO MATCH

unfathomable manner ; for indeed the satanic
stranger chuckled gaily to himself as the torment
went on.

Their way led through numerous back streets,
which Johnson was too disconcerted to recognize,
even if he knew them ; and at last they stopped
before a very blank and secret-looking door in
a tall building that had no more than two other
openings in it, and those windows, small and high.

The stranger opened the door with a latchkey,
never looking at the key, but always at Johnson,
with that embarrassing grin unaltered, unless it
were now a little less fierce and a little more
whimsical. The door revealed nothing but a
dark passage, into which Johnson was pushed
without ceremony. The place smelt damp, and
on the whole strikingly like a cell in a police-
station ; a fact which gave the prisoner's terrors
a more definite turn. The door closed behind
them and left them wholly in the dark ; and
Johnson, seized by the arm, was thrust stumbling
and staggering along the passage till he emerged
on a spot only a degree less obscure, where
nothing was discernible but some vast construction
of square beams that vanished into blackness
above. Here the stranger paused, and groping
in the gloom among the beams, flung open another
door.

241 R

GREEN GINGER

" Get in there," he said, " and sit down. I
shan't want you for an hour. You can go to
sleep if you like."

Johnson obediently stumbled into the dark
opening, and the door slammed behind him with
a bang and a sharp click. It was black — blacker
than ever, but at least he was alone for a space,
and might collect his faculties. He reached about
him, and had no difficulty in finding the walls
of his prison, for in fact they were scarce a yard
apart in any direction. It seemed that he was
in a wooden cupboard, with a ledge for seat. He
sat on the ledge and wondered.

Imprisonment was not wholly a novelty, though
this was certainly the darkest cell he had ever
inhabited, and the smallest. There was to be
an hour's respite, it seemed, but he was mighty
uneasy as to what would happen at the end of
the hour. He thought again of that horrible
beetle, and the clothes tingled on his skin at the
recollection, till he began to rub himself all over.
Heavens ! if there were more of them in this
place ! He jumped to his feet, shook himself
and stamped, and then bethought him of his
match-box. He found it and spilt it, stooped
for it hurriedly, butted his head into one side
of the cupboard and his opposite end into another,
and came to the floor in a heap.

242

A LUCIFO MATCH

<{ Now then, keep quiet in there ! "

The voice was a strange one — certainly not
that of the dark man — and it came from — where ?
Nowhere about him, but apparently from some-
where above, though even of this he was not
certain. Surely there was no possibility that he
could be watched in this unspeakable darkness !
He groped painfully, found a match, groped again
and found the box to strike it on.

The light was a great relief, for it revealed
the fact that at least the place was free from
visible insects. He could see now that his cell
was wooden — top, bottom, and sides ; and then
came burned fingers and sudden darkness. He
lit another match, and satisfied himself that there
was no cranny, nor even a keyhole, through
which peeping was possible ; then he lit another
to pick up those remaining, and another after
that.

" Now then ! " came the voice again. " Leave
off strikin' them matches ! "

Johnson stopped, bumped his head again, and
scrambled to his seat. Then he found courage to
speak. " I say " he began.

" You stow that row, d'y'ear ? Shut up."

The prisoner said no more, but waited.
Strange noises reached his ear from some far-
away part of the building, and a little nearer

243

•

GREEN GINGER

there were subdued creakings. He began to
remember stories of mysterious rooms that closed
up and crushed men imprisoned in them ; of
weighted ceilings that fell ; of chambers slowly
filled with poisonous gas. As he sat he began
to tremble ; and as the minutes passed he felt
himself growing desperate with fear. He wished
he had allowed himself to be handed to the
police, for at least he knew what that meant.
But now — he could not endure much longer.
He had made up his mind, come what might,
to shout his loudest for help ; when, as he stood
feeling the hundredth time for the door- fastening,
he was suddenly flung backward and down, con-
fusedly realizing that the cupboard was shooting
upward bodily. Was the thing a lift ?

It stopped with a jerk, and the prisoner,
recovering his legs, was aware of a loud and now
familiar voice. There was a tap on the door,
and a click ; and instantly it flew open, and
Johnson was blinded by a flood of light and
deafened by a roar of sound.

Hundreds of faces stared at him from a great
hall, as many voices shouted a delighted greeting,
and twice as many hands clapped loud applause.
The cupboard stood open on a brilliantly lighted
stage, and by it stood the sardonic stranger in
evening, dress, with a black wand in his hand ;

244

A LUCIFO MATCH

while Johnson, gasping and dishevelled, blinked
and cowered helplessly.

" Ladies and gentlemen," cried the conjurer,
" I have the honour to introduce Mr. Johnson,
alias Jones, alias Barker, alias Jenkinson, the
eminent pickpocket. You will remember that
when I enclosed the lady in the cabinet I
promised you quite a new and original denoue-
ment to the performance — something never before
attempted. I think I have fulfilled my promise.
Not only has the lady disappeared, but by an
extraordinary application of occult natural forces
I have brought into her place a pickpocket
snatched this moment from his nefarious practices
in Oxford Street. You observe his confusion ?
What more natural ? But two minutes ago his
hand was in the pocket of an eminent and
distinguished gentleman, much like myself in
appearance, seeking that gentlemen's purse. In
an instant — whist ! he finds himself placed before
you on this stage, half a mile off. Ladies and
gentlemen, it is just possible that some among
you suspected the lady who disappeared of being
a confederate of mine ; but I defy any one
of you to call this man a confederate. Does he
look like it ? Does he look as though he came
here on purpose? Has he the calm, self-
possessed, happy, smiling appearance natural to any

245

GREEN GINGER

man who has the good fortune to be in my
employment ? Look at him. Some gentleman
who has ever had his pocket picked may remember
him ; if any of you are connected with the police
you are sure to know him. He has been brought
up at half the police-courts in London and has
been convicted at the Old Bailey and the Sessions
House over and over again. He has just
completed nine months' board and residence
at this country's expense, under the name of
Jenkinson ; if he hadn't changed his name he'd
have got more. Are you quite convinced, ladies
and gentlemen, that he is not a confederate ?
Any test you like to suggest will be applied.
Is there any lady present he has ever robbed who
would like to stick a bonnet-pin into him ? No ?
Don't hesitate — you are quite welcome, I assure
you. Come now, I wish you would. You see,
under the Employer's Liability Act I am liable
for any injury occurring to people I employ, but
I don't care what happens to this chap. Come
now, let me persuade you. Isn't there any dear,
kind lady present, who will oblige me by sticking
a bonnet-pin into this criminal, just to oblige me ?
It doesn't matter whether he has robbed you
or not — / don't mind. He'd rob you if he could,
you know. Here he is." He seized the
wretched Johnson by the collar, and thrust him

246

A LUCIFO MATCH

forward. " I always find ladies very obliging,"
he went on. <c Surely you won't all be so unkind
as to refuse just to stick him with a bonnet-pin
while I hold him ? Just to help me convince the
company, now ? "

There were laughs and titters, and the conjurer
whispered from behind : " All right, you fool,
they won't do it." Then he proceeded, aloud :
" You won't ? Not one of you ? Then I shall
have to try something else. I'm always glad
to introduce a novelty into my performance, and
I'll think you'll admit that this is the first time
a real live pickpocket has ever been brought
upon the stage in this extraordinary manner.
Having got him here it would be a pity to
waste him, wouldn't it ? Very well. 1 will
proceed to try a little experiment with a view
to showing how dishonesty would be dealt with
in this country, if I were Prime Minister. Will
any ladies and gentlemen in the company oblige
me by the loan of a few small articles of value ?
A few rings, a watch, a gold pencil-case — anything
of that sort, you know. I'm sure I shan't
have to wait long for things like that with
such a high-class audience as this. Come now —
thank you, sir ; a ring ; a valuable diamond ring
from a gentleman in the second row. Yes ?

Thank you, madam — a locket. A gold watch ?

247

GREEN GINGER

I should like a gold watch — and so would Mr.
Johnson, I am sure. Here it comes — thank
you, sir. A gold pencil-case — two more rings,
a chain, and a silver match-box ; thank you —
thank you. I think that will do ; we mustn't
risk too much on a first experiment, you know.
Now I should like some gentleman from the
company to assist me by placing these articles
in Mr. Johnson's pockets, in full sight of the
house. Will you, sir? Thank you ; just step
up here. Now, will you please take the articles
one by one from the table, and place them
separately in any of the criminal's pockets you
choose. Well in sight of the company, mind.
Stand a little aside — that's it — so that everything
shall be perfectly clear. I need hardly assure
you, ladies and gentlemen, that this gentleman
is no confederate of mine. I do not invite you
to test it by sticking a bonnet-pin into him — he
is a good deal bigger than Johnson, and it might
not be safe. I am sure you will accept his
word of honour from a gentleman of his size."

The gentleman approached Johnson and followed
the conjurer's instructions, and the conjurer, from
a little way off, reported the bestowal of each
article aloud. u Gold watch in right-hand waist-
coat pocket ; diamond ring in left-hand waistcoat-
pocket ; chain in inside coat-pocket " ; and so

A LUCIFO MATCH

forth. As for Johnson, he began to feel a good
deal happier. He resented the indignities to
which he had been subjected, of course, but, after
all, he had expected something much worse than
this. All the bewilderment and anxiety of the
earlier part of the adventure were at an end now,
and all was plain enough. The conjurer had
scored heavily, it was true, and the effect of
Johnson's appearance in the cabinet, aghast and
panic-stricken, was something altogether beyond
the possibilities of ordinary preparation and
rehearsal. But Johnson's relief was immense, and
now the novel experience of having his pockets
voluntarily stuffed with valuables was rather
pleasant than otherwise. Johnson was himself
again, and vastly on the alert for fresh moves in
the game.

The gentleman descended from the platform,
and the conjurer came forward. " Now, ladies
and gentlemen," he said, " you have seen the
articles safely — or shall we say unsafely ? — placed
in the thief's pockets. But to make everything
perfectly plain, and to identify the owner of each,
I will just rapidly run over them again. This
ring, sir — you see it ? You are sure you identify
it ? It is your property, and you will remember
that it is in the left-hand waistcoat-pocket, where
I carefully replace it, as you see. The watch—

249

GREEN GINGER

that is yours, sir ; you may examine it again, if
you please. No ? Well, you will bear in mind
that it is in the thief's right-hand waistcoat-
pocket. There it is. This chain — the owner of
this chain may see that no substitution has been
made — is in the inside coat-pocket, on the left.
Remember that, please."

The company, vastly interested, watched the
apparent return of each trinket, but Johnson
knew better. Nothing but the conjurer's fingers
entered each pocket in turn, and nothing re-
mained there at all. Somewhere within the breast
of the conjurer's coat was a spot over which his
fingers flickered instantaneously after each pocket
was done with ; and when at last he turned away,
ostentatiously dusting his fingers with his pocket-
handkerchief after the contamination of Johnson,
the handkerchief also flickered over that same
spot. So much Johnson observed with eyes
trained by use in all matters concerned with
pockets.

The conjurer stepped between Johnson and the
company, putting his pocket-handkerchief into
his coat-tail pocket ; and Johnson saw that some-
thing black went with it.

" Now, ladies and gentlemen," said the conjurer,
" the experiment I am about to make is one of
the greatest interest to every law-abiding person.

250

A LUCIFO MATCH

I propose to show you how, by proper scientific
precautions known only to myself, all theft, all
dishonesty, may be rendered ineffectual and use-
less."

Gesticulating and bowing elegantly as he spoke,
the conjurer stepped so closely before Johnson
that only one thing could happen, and that was
inevitable. Johnson had nothing but one small
talent, as I have said ; he could pick a pocket
very well indeed — probably better than the
conjurer. He picked one now. The black thing
was a little velvet bag, soft and flat, as Johnson
felt when it was safely in his own pocket. And
the conjurer, with all eyes on him, went on.

" Just consider, now, how valuable my process
would be to the Government of this country.
Half the police force might be disbanded, and
most of the magistrates pensioned off. People
like our friend Johnson, alias Jones, alias Barker,
alias Jenkinson, would have to turn honest, or
starve. Now for the experiment."

He turned and caught Johnson once more by
the collar. " Here, you see, is the pickpocket
whom I brought straight out of Oxford Street
by the exercise of the wonderful scientific law to
which I have alluded. Here he is, with your
valuables in his pockets, as you have observed
with your own eyes. Now I shall send Johnson

251

GREEN GINGER

away — turn him out, kick him out — from this
place, and let him run where he likes ; and when
he is gone I shall endeavour, by my scientific
process, to bring your valuables back here, just
as I brought Johnson himself, -and restore them
to you in a way that I hope will surprise you.
Now Johnson, alias Jones, alias Barker, alias
Jenkinson, out you go, and keep what you've
got if you can ! Ladies and gentlemen, you will
agree that I could not afford to kick a confederate
— he would give me away. So as a guarantee
of good faith I kick Johnson off the platform.
Hall-porter ! Run this man off the premises,
and never let him come here again ! "

He swung Johnson to the end of the platform,
thrust him over the edge with hand and foot,
and stood bowing and waving his wand as the
porter bundled the victim out. " Good-bye, Mr.
Johnson ! " cried the conjurer ; " good-bye ! Run
as hard as ever you can ! "

As soon as Johnson reached the street he
obeyed this order with all the strength of his
legs, barely observing from the corner of his eye
that the front of the hall was covered with posters
announcing afternoon and evening performances
by the great Lucifo, the Wizard of Andalusia.
And when he had run some distance he turned
into a dark entry and there disentangled from the

252

A LUCIFO MATCH

velvet bag the gold watch, the three rings, the
chain, the gold pencil-case, and the silver match-
box.

a He was mighty anxious," reflected Johnson,
" for some proof that I wasn't his pal. Well,
he's got it now, and I hope he's satisfied."

For some days Johnson never ventured out
till after dark ; but his days at home were not
dull, for he had bought a small collection of
newspapers ; wherefrom he derived solace and
chuckles, as he read and read again under the
headings : " Riotous Scene at an Entertainment,"
" Extraordinary Occurrence at St. Basil's Hall,"
" Serious Attack on a Conjurer " ; and, in the
case of an irresponsible halfpenny evening paper,
" Lucifo Lamentably Left."

253

Arts and Crafts

I N the early fifties a stranger in the parlour ot
* the Castle Inn at Hadleigh was rarity enough,
but a stranger sleeping in the house for two
nights was almost beyond precedent. But at
the time of this tale the stranger was there,
visible at a great distance because of his size and
the redness of his face, and audible farther because
of a very assertive and persistent voice, too
large even for the man. The ma;i was Mr.
Peter Fossett of Kelvedon, who had come to
take over a stock of sheep ; and on the evening
of his arrival the parlour at the Castle was so
full of Mr. Peter Fossett that the more regular
company seemed to be squeezed into the corners.
Even Abel Pennyfather was less noisy and less
boastful. Old Harry Prentice and Banham the
carrier were much impressed, but the waggish
sparkle of Dan Fisk's squint waxed as the
evening wore on.

The stranger (" foreigner " was the word among
the older Hadleigh people) was a farmer ex-

254

ARTS AND CRAFTS

ceptionally well-to-do by the merit of his fathers
before him. He had ridden the thirty miles
on a handsome mare, with a man to drive the
sheep back, and while the master took his ease
with brandy-and-water in the parlour, the man
took beer and dispensed information in the tap-
room. It was not so much of his possessions
and his prosperity that Mr. Peter Fossett talked
in the parlour — that matter expanded freely
enough from the man in the taproom — but of
his most amazing sagacity and unbounded smart-
ness ; whereof he had many anecdotes, not always
clear in point, though all unfailingly satisfactory
to Mr. Fossett, and mightily redounding to his
glory and triumph.

" I ha'n't been a-nigh Hadleigh afore in my
life," said Mr. Fossett, unflaggingly providing
the conversation and keeping it to the same
subject. " Never before, though I'm turned o'
thirty. I'm a Kelvedon man, an' I've took a
rise out o' some of 'em in most parts of Essex —
ahj an' London too, once or twice — an' now I've
come here. You've got an oad chap here I
mean to have a look at, 'fore I go back. I've
heard a deal of him here an' there about Essex ;
him they call Cunning Murrell, I mean."

"Ah, Cunning Murrell, eh?" interjected Dan
Fisk, scenting amusement. " If you've come

255

GREEN GINGER

here to take a rise out o' he, you'd better stop
a bit an' rent a house."

Mr. Fossett turned his beefy face slowly
toward Dan Fisk's corner. a Ho ! " he said,
with a voice of vast scorn, " you're one o' them
as believes in him, I count?"

Dan beamed gently. " Ay, sarten to say," he
admitted, " Cunning Murrell be a monsus clever
man."

" Herbs an' cures an' surveyin'," murmured
Banham.

" Witchcraft an' things stole," Prentice added,
with a shake of the head.

" Fortunes in the stars," added Jobson.

"An' wisions in a pail," said another. "Sayin*
nothen' o' warts cured overnight."

" Ah ! Fortunes in the stars an' wisions in a
pail ! " blared the stranger contemptuously. " A
monsus clever man, sarten to say — for Hadleigh!"

" Cunnin' Murr'll be knowed arl over Essex
an' farther," maintained Jobson.

"Ay, true enough. Fools an' their gammick
go everywhere. Your oad Murrell may be
mighty clever for Hadleigh, but he wouldn't do
for Kelvedon — not he ! Not with me at home,
he wouldn't ! 'Tis sarten he seems to come it
over you mighty easy, but I hoad a pound he
can't come over me ! Not he ! I'm going to

256

ARTS AND CRAFTS

have a look at this oad curiosity with his fortun'-
tellin' an' wisions in buckets. He don't come
over me with such truck ! "

"Ay, I count you be a man not easy took in,
Master Fossett, sir," cooed Dan Fisk, in honeyed
tones, whereat anybody who knew Dan would
have taken warning. But the stranger knew not
Dan, and went on vaingloriously.

" Ay, I count I be," he said. " You needn't
take it from me — ask anywhere I'm knowed.
Lord, I dunno where I'd be if I weren't. Why
I'd ha' bin married, for one thing, long afore
this. But I ain't ! "

cc Ah," murmured Dan, " I count there be a
mortial great competition."

"Ay, mayhap," answered Mr. Fossett, com-
placently, " though 'taren't my ways to talk o'
that. But I ain't met the man or woman yet
as could get the better o' me, an' I've a-been
about the world a bit, too — twice in London,
an' Ipswich an' Colchester — an' I've larned a sight
too much to be took in by such oad fellars as
this here Murrell o' yourn."

" Well," observed Prentice, " he ha'n't tried
to take you in yet."

" True 'tis," replied Fossett, " though I most
mighty wish he would ! Ay, I count I'd like
him to try ! "

257 s

GREEN GINGER

" 'Tis easy enough to let him try," remarked
Dan Fisk ; " easy enough if you ben't afeared
of him."

" Afeared of him ! Do I fare afeared of him ?

An oad — oad why, I'll show him up afore ye

all ! I'll make ye laugh at him, here in Hadleigh,
that I will ! If he ben't afeared to face me, that
is!"

" Oh, he'll see ye, if ye go businesslike in the
mornin'. He's not to know his mortial danger.
'Tis a cur'ous venture ! "

" I'll go ! I'll hev a joke on oad Murrell ! "

And so between the doubts of the rest and
the careful management of Dan Fisk, alternately
flattering and challenging, Mr. Peter Fossett was
brought to promise a vast exposure of Murrell
on the morrow. And by the time he had gone
to bed he had been brought to hint darkly at
schemes of preternatural sagacity whereby the
whole Murrell superstition should be exposed to
the eternal derision of Essex, beginning at Had-
leigh itself; and generally to proclaim Cunning
Murrell already a vanquished humbug.

Nevertheless he went to bed far fuller of
brandy-and-water than of schemes, and woke in
the morning with no schemes at all. Indeed, Mr.
Fossett was not a man of invention, though he
was none the less self-confident on that account.

2J8

ARTS AND CRAFTS

He finished his large breakfast, stretched his
large limbs, and rolled out into Hadleigh street
resolved to gratify his curiosity by a call on
Cunning Murrell, and in no sort doubtful of
his ability to put the wise man's inventions to
rout. His scheme should come, he promised
himself, when he heard what Murrell had to say.
And so it did.

It was scarce a score of lazy steps to Murrell's
cottage, in the little black row that stood almost
by the side of the inn garden. Mr. Fossett's
lusty rap brought a high-pitched call of " Come
yow in ! " and with that he clicked the latch and
met Cunning Murrell.

The little old man sat at a little table, and the
whole room about him was hung and stacked
with dried herbs in bundles. Murrell's eyes,
sharp and quick as a weasel's, ran the length of
Mr. Fossett top to toe.

" Shut the door and sit," said Murrell
sharply, pointing to a chair, " and tell me your
business."

Mr. Fossett, in no way abashed by this abrupt-
ness, dropped into the chair, spread his legs and
rolled his head waggishly.

" No, no, Master Murrell," he answered. " I
come here to larn from you, an' first you ask me
a question. Now I count so larned an' cunnin'

259

GREEN GINGER

a man as you be should know me an' my business
afore 1 tell it."

" As to who you be," the old man replied,
u that I know well enough. Mr. Peter Fossett,
o' Gatpoles Farm, Kelvedon. A man o' money,
if 'tis said true, an' Gatpoles Farm be five hundred
acres. Am I right ? "

" Ay, 'tis true enough."

"But 'tis no claim o' my art to know that,"
the old man went or.. " You're the only stranger
in the place, an' folks talk. Your man talks, an'
arl Hadleigh knows as much as I've told 'ee by
this. But as to your business with me, 'tis no
such plain matter. D'ye wish me to tell it ?"

"Ay, Master Murr'll, I do."

" Then 'tis proper I work it by geomancy.
'Tis a cur'ous art, an' known to few. I take a
paper, thus, an' I write your name, so. There
be twelve letters in that name, and 1 divide them
into fower threes. I putt down they fower threes
one above another, so. Now take you the pen
an' make a row o' plain strokes opposite each
three. Stop when you please, and don't count
as you do't, or arl will spile."

Mr. Peter Fossett, willing to give his victim
plenty of rope, took the paper and obeyed.
With a blot and a smudge here and there, four
heavily fisted rows of strokes presently appeared

260

ARTS AND CRAFTS

on the paper opposite the letters, and then
Murrell took the paper and considered it with
anxious care.

" You hev wrote these strokes in order op-
posite the letters in fower rows, without countin'
any row," he said. " Good. Now I work this
geomantic figure."

The old man's pen hovered a moment over
the letters and strokes, and then descended to
describe a group of ciphers at the end of each
row. This done, he began another group of
ciphers below the whole muddle, dotting his
pen here and there among the letters, strokes,
and ciphers above, and deriving his lower group,
by some mysterious mathematic, from his upper.

" Right witness ; left witness ; judge," he said
thoughtfully, carrying his pen from one cipher
to another. " Here I read much that would
surprise you. Your reason for coming here now ;
you ask me to tell you that ? "

" Ay, I'd mighty like you to guess it ! "

<l Guess it I will not, for there's no need. By
my cur'ous arts I can know for sarten. Master
Fossett, you be most desperate in love ! "

Mr. Fossett's first impulse was to guffaw aloud.
Cunning Murrell's guess was the farthest thing
from his mind, and one he had never dreamed
of. But he held in his mirth by a choking

261

GREEN GINGER

effort, and dissembled, for he began to scheme
vaguely at last. More rope, he thought, more
rope for this amazing old fool to hang himself
high as Haman.

" Master Murrell ! " he exclaimed, " that be
the most surprisin' 'zact guess that ever I hev
heard ! Wonnerful ! "

" 'Tis no guess, I tell 'ee, Master Fossett.
'Tis no guess, but sarten knowledge by my lawful
arts."

** Then if it be no guess," answered Fossett,
following his opportunity, " maybe you can just
as easy tell me the lady's name ? "

Cunning Murrell shook his head sadly. " You
be mighty hard o' belief, Master Fossett," he
said, " but if you want more proof, more you
shall have, plensheous more. Can I tell 'ee the
lady's name ? For sarten truth I can, an' will,
an' that without another word."

He returned to his geomantic formula and
studied it afresh. " You hev put your hand to
this unknowing" he said, " and all your thoughts
lie bare to him who hev the art to read the
figure. Her name — her name — let me see now ;
her given name be Ann ! "

If Mr. Fossett had not been a stranger, he
would have begun to feel uneasy. But, confident
in ignorance, he chuckled inwardly, for the old

262

ARTS AND CRAFTS

man was adding blunder to blunder. The sole
human creature called Ann whom Fossett could
remember was his own grandmother. This
should come out, that very night, in the Castle
parlour to Murrell's face, if but he could be
brought there among his neighbours. Meanwhile,
let the old humbug be drawn farther into the
net.

" Master Murrell, you surprise me more and
more. 'Tis prophecy, nothin' else. Though 'tis
true Ann be a name christened to more'n one.
D'ye get her other name too ? "

" Her other name," Murrell answered deliber-
ately, dropping his eyes and his pen once more
to the paper, " her other name: — yes ; her — her
other name is p'inted out by the figure in letters
of your own name — the first two an' the last two.
Her other name I read is Pett — Pett with two
t's — Ann Pett is the whole name ! "

Fossett the stranger, apprehending nothing,
gazed upward at the herbs depending from the
ceiling, and whistled to keep his mouth from a
grin. This was magnificent. Possibly there
were people in the world of the name of Pett,
but quite certainly he had never heard that
name till this moment. The old simpleton was
floundering worse at every step. What a show-
up for him in the evening at the Castle ! What

263

GREEN GINGER

an unadulterated lark ! More rope for the self-
strangulation of Cunning Murrell !

" Whew ! That do beat arl ! " cried Mr.
Fossett. u Ann Pett, sarten to say ! That there
blessed name as hev been what's-a-naming itself
on my heart like a thingumbob ! 'Tis outrageous
wonnerful ! Master Murrell, you be the most
scientific oad pusson in Essex ; the hull world be
knowed to ye like a book. An' what will ye do
next, Master Murrell ? "

"Next?" repeated Cunning Murrell, plainly
gratified by his client's enthusiasm. " Next I
do what most you wish. 'Tis plain you den't
come here onny to be told what you know.
You come here to ask my help, an' my help you
shall hev. I will give 'ee your heart's wish ; her
stubborn heart shall be overcome, and Ann Pett
shall be drawed toward 'ee, an' marry her you
shall. 'Tis what you're longing, ben't it ? "

" Ay, Master Murrell, what else ? " the visitor
assured him, shaking with interior mirth. " 'Tis
what I'm longin' most hainish powerful."

" Good then. Here is more paper. Write
on the one piece your own name and Ann
Pett's on the other."

This feat Mr. Fossett accomplished, with a
great squaring of elbows. Murrell took the two
papers, and filled a glass with water. Then,

264

ARTS AND CRAFTS

twisting the papers together, he lighted them
with a match and let the black ashes drop into
the water till no paper was left.

" So it must stand for two hours, and then
I shall deal further," observed Murrell, putting
the glass on a shelf and covering it with a saucer.
" Those words, that seem to be gone, shall be
carried to the mind of Ann Pett by cur'ous an'
subtile arts. An' more shall follow. Take you
a paper more, and write as I shall tell. Write
plain : 'Tit Ann Pett is my heart's love. Have
'ee got that ? "

u Ay, that's down," Fossett replied, winking
genially at the paper.

" 'T'is Ann Pett is my heart's love. ''Tis my
wish she be my wife, and thereto I give pledge.
Is't arl down ? "

u Give pledge" repeated Fossett, with his
tongue curled at the side of his mouth as he
looped the " g." « Ay, 'tis there."

" Now sign."

« Sign ? "

" Yes, full name. 'Tis naught without your
own written name."

" There 't be, then. But don't you burn that
too ? "

" Not till the right time. T'other must stand
two hours, as I told 'ee, an' I do nothen* with

265

GREEN GINGER

this till then. How far or how near Ann
Pett be at this moment I don't know, though
to find that would be easy enough for me. But
far or near, north, south, east or west, these
words will go to her by ways you don't dream
of, an' draw her an' draw her, Master Fossett.
'Tis enough. I hev other work."

There was a timid rap of knuckles on the
front door. Mr. Fossett rose reluctantly, for
there was no moderation in his triumph, and he
wished to draw Murrell still more.

" Ben't there nothin' else you'll tell me, Master
Murrell ? " he asked. " I fare that monsus bad in
love, that 'twould be a mussy to tell me any-
thin'."

" Ay, I make no doubt. But wait — till to-
night, at any rate."

"To-night, Master Murrell? D'ye think she
can be drawed to me so soon as that ? "

u I make no promise, Master Fossett, but 'tis
arl a possibility."

" Master Murrell, will 'ee come to me to-night
at the Castle parlour ? Come to me there, an'
I'll pay 'ee handsome."

" 'Tis no habit o' mine, the Castle parlour,"
the old man replied ; " but come I will, since you
ask. At eight o'clock."

" Thankee, Master Murrell, thankee. An' if
266

you can show then, fair and clear, you've done
all ye say, if you'll draw her to me, I'll pay a
fi'-pun' note and glad ! I'll hev it ready ! "

Mr. Fossett passed the little girl who had
come for ointment, and turned into the quiet
Castle Lane to explode. Truly this was a
most magnificent go ! He could scarcely have
imagined anybody so utterly giving himself into
the hands of the enemy as this misnamed Cunning
Murrell had done. That evening in the Castle
parlour there should be fun. Hadleigh should
witness the confounding of Murrell by the re-
velation that there was no Ann Pett in existence,
and that consequently the triumphant Fossett
could not have fallen in love with her, even if
that weakness had been at all in his way, which
it wasn't. Therewith and therefore that Murrell
was but a feeble humbug, captive to the bow and
spear of that same unconquerable Fossett.

He did his business that day with interruptions
of ecstatic chuckling. He spread hints abroad
that the total extinction of Murrell was appointed
for eight that evening in the parlour of the Castle ;
and he was there, with an uncommonly full com-
pany, long before the hour. To all inquiries
he opposed a wink, a grin, and a shake of the
head. Not a word would he say to spoil the
show ; he would merely promise — and that he did

267

GREEN GINGER

a hundred times — that the fun should be well
worth the waiting.

The cunning man was punctual. The hour
was at its seventh stroke when he appeared, small,
sharp, shiny-hatted and calm. " Good-evenin',
neighbours," he piped in his thin voice. " Good
to ye arl. I den't expect to find so many here."

"Ah, 'tis business o' mine, but never mind
that," said the eager Fossett, with a wink at the
expectant company. " This most as-tonishin'
scientific neighbour o' yourn, genelmen, hev done
sich as-tonishin' things to-day, that I'll hev no
secrets from ye arl, so surprisin' it be. I went
to see Master Murrell this mornin', genelmen,
an' he knowed what I came for afore I told him !
He told me, slap out, that I was most desperate
in love ! In love ! Me ! "

Mr. Fossett looked about him and grinned,
with a second wink.

u He told me I was in love," he proceeded, " an'
he made count to tell me the gal's name. He
did a little game of naughts and crosses, an' he
counted it out o' that. He counted out the
name, genelmen, and he told me it. It were
Ann Pett ! Genelmen ! you'll be mighty in-
terested to know I'm most desperate in love
with Ann Pett ! "

" Ann Pett ! " gasped Prentice and Jobson
268

ARTS AND CRAFTS

together. And others on every side repeated
"Ann Pett ! " staring like crabs. Dan Fisk set
up a fit of laughter that lasted, with intervals, for
the rest of the evening.

" Ah, Ann Pett ! Ye well may laugh ! An'
here's a fi'-pun' note I'm to pay if he draws her
an' draws her so artful an' cunning to me this
very evenin' ! This Ann Pett what I love so true,
genelmen ! "

Prentice and Jobson began laughing now, and
Dan Fisk took a corner of the note and pushed
it toward Murrell. " Go on," he cried, in a
gasp, " he'll do it— he'll do it ! "

There was something in the faces about him that
Mr. Fossett had not expected. He checked his
grin and stared about him. With that Cunning
Murrell spoke.

" 'Tis true enough, neighbours," he said, with
simple composure. " This very suitable an' well-
to-do young man hev come to me an' confessed
himself most hopeless in love with Ann Pett.
He hev further give me a document, signed all
regular, pledgin' to marry her ; the kind of
document there's no answering to in a promise-
breach case, such as might occur with other
couples, where the young man ain't smitten so
deadly deep as Master Fossett be."

Fossett, slow of apprehension, but stricken with
269

GREEN GINGER

a vague fear, gasped : " What ? That paper ?
Den't you burn it ? "

" Burn it ? Why no, sarten to say. 'Twould
be poor respect to such a document as that, an'
foolish, to burn it. Well, neighbours, as I were
sayin', considerin' arl things, an' seein' how
desperate this young man implored me to draw
Ann Pett to him "

" Ann Pett ! " burst out Fossett. " There
ben't no Ann Pett ! "

" That's an unreasonable remark for a man
so fond of her by witness of his own handwritin',"
the old man went on gently. " Well, neighbours,
to make short, I hev drawed her to him. Mr.
Fossett be a very good match for a darter o'
mine, as things go, especially a widder darter,
with few chances at her age. You'll find I've
earned your fi'-pun' note, Mr. Fossett. Ann !
Ann Pett!"

Murrell opened the door and called into the
outer passage. And at his call came Ann Pett,
wizen as her father, thin and sharp and worn,
with her wisp of mouse-grey hair straggling from
under a shawl. She stood in the doorway and
stared, at first all vacant incomprehension, and
then with some irritation at the storm of guffaws
that raged unaccountably before her.

Mr. Peter Fossett gurgled, gulped, blinked
270

ARTS AND CRAFTS

and shrank. He looked wildly about him, but
in the only door stood Ann Pett, now beginning
to bridle and snarl at the mirth she could not
comprehend. Then with a despairing snatch at
his wits Mr. Fossett caught Murrell by the arm
and gasped in his ear : " Hev she seen that
paper ? "

Murrell, unruffled, regarded his victim.

" That I don't answer," he said. " But what
if she hev not ? "

" I'm done — I'll buy it. Come outside."

Next week Cunning Murrell was observed in
a new blue coat, with brass buttons.

271

Wicks's Waterloo

I FIND that in the mental perspective of
most people, the days of the Kent and Essex
smugglers lie very far back, while in my own they
stand surprisingly near. It is habit of mind, and
nothing more. Those days were gone before
mine began ; though not only have I seen and
talked with grey old smugglers on the Essex coast,
but I have even tasted the white brandy of such
astonishing strength, which they brought over in
the light " tubs " of three or four gallons' capacity.
I tasted it on my twenty-first birthday, forty years
and more after it had been smuggled ; and it
came from an unsuspected secret store of Robo-
shobery Dove's, who thus designed to honour
my majority. The treat was accompanied with
much sage advice on my entry on manhood, as
was proper from this old man of ninety and rather
more, who had fought the French afloat as a
boy ; but a lecture twice as long, from one in no
such way endeared to me as was he, could not
have marred the memory of that amazing drink,

272

WICKS'S WATERLOO

so mild and mellow and soft, albeit a dilution of
four times as much water was needed to tame its
strength. If one is asked for dates by haters of
foggy arithmetic, then it is enough to say that
the last isolated attempt to run a cargo of brandy
on the Essex coast failed in the year 1854 ; and
that the trade was falling out of use a decade
earlier.

So it happened that my majority was celebrated
from what was probably the very last tub of
" run " spirits remaining in Essex — perhaps in
all England ; and the tale which never failed to
season Roboshobery's moral discourse was on this
occasion the tale of the run — one of the last
successful ventures — which brought over this very
tub and about four score more.

" If I'd ha' been a man o' money, sir," the
old man said, " I might ha' given you a birthday
compliment of greater cost ; but I count it might
ha' been easier forgotten. An' if you want still
more to remember it by, why, I'll tell 'ee this :
the bringing over o' that very brandy was the
cause of the very first teetotal meetin' in Essex.
Nothin' to be proud of, p'r'aps, but a curiosity ;
'an 'tis my belief that if such stuff as this could
ha' come over with no hindrance all along, there'd
never ha' been a teetotal meetin' in Essex to this
very day."

273 T

GREEN GINGER

Here I solemnly apologize for my old friend.
His was an earlier age, before many of our
modern morals had been invented, and before
we had discovered how much more respectable
we are than our fathers. At the same time, with
the taste and scent of that ineffable white brandy
present to my senses, I was mightily disposed
to agree with his conjecture.

"It was after the new coastguard was formed
as that came over," the old man went on, " and
it was mostly the new coastguard as helped to
kill smuggling. It went on pretty well though,
hereabout, for some years ; we'd got a sleepy oad
chief officer, a good deal too fat for his business,
and Leigh windows were cleaned with Dutch gin
right up to forty years ago. " But just about
this time there came a mighty smart an' knowin'
chief-boatman this way, promoted from some-
where right off — Poole, I think they said. His
name were Wicks — Archibald Wicks, to be com-
plete— and he were so very mighty smart as to
be very near as smart as he thought hisself, and
that were saying a deal. He hadn't done with
promotion either, had Master Archie Wicks, chief-
boatman as he were. You see it were a time of
changes in the sarvice, an' 'twas thought pro-
motions might be made higher still for some
men ; they might be chief-officers, 'twas rumoured,

274

WICKS'S WATERLOO

or anything ; an' if such promotions were to
come to pass Master Archie made up his mind to
have one o' the first. If the chief-officer liked
to go to sleep an' wait for his pension, Master
Archie Wicks was the last to object ; but he kept
himself mighty jumpy up an' down the station,
an' he tried a number of new dodges that sad
upset a lot o' people hereabout, an' sent a good
few tubs of this sort the wrong way. For one
thing, he had a most astonishin' takin' way with
the women. He was smart out an' in, an' he'd
go any lengths to pump information.

" Now at the time I'm talking of the last
freighter about here who did anything large in
this way was oad Tom Blyth. You've heard tell
of < Hard-apple ' Blyth, of Paglesham ? "

The legends of that famous smuggler, far back
at the turn of the century, were familiar tales of
my childhood. I had heard enough told of
" Hard-apple" Blyth to fill a book.

" Well, oad Tom Blyth were his nephew ; so
you see he come of pretty tough stock. Oad
Tom were the last o' the big freighters hereabout,
and this here brandy came in one of his last
freights. There aren't no more o' the Blyths left
now, except a darter, as were a young gal at the
time.

" Now one of Master Wicks's new dodges was
275

GREEN GINGER

to watch for the carriers, 'stead o' the boats.
You know what that 'ud mean, o' course. He'd
let the watch off-shore go easy, an' he'd keep
his eye on one or two o' the men as was certain to
be took on to carry the tubs inland as soon as
they were landed. Like as not one of 'em was an'
informer. The dodge wasn't of great advantage
except it were unexpected, you see. When you
got your cargo ashore, fair an' easy, an' everything
seemed going right, you got a bit less careful.
An' so long as the preventive men kep' the
carriers in sight, wherever they might be, the
tubs must come to 'em, sooner or later. But
then information's a thing as can travel both ways,
as you may ha' noticed. I've told you the story
o' the two Drakes, Eli an' Robin, an' the Black
Badger, and you'll remember that one o' them
brothers was a preventive man an' the other a
smuggler, an' the arrangement worked very well
for both of 'em. That was twenty years before
the time I'm talkin' of now, an' George Fourth
were King ; but there was still a bit o' the same
sort o' thing goin' ; an' if there wasn't brothers
on the two sides there was one or two o' the
coastguard as were pretty good friends with the
smugglers. So, as I was sayin', information
bein' a thing as can travel both ways, oad Tom
Blyth an' the rest of 'em wasn't far behind

276

WICKS'S WATERLOO

Master Archie Wicks's moves, however he
made 'em.

" Now when this little cargo was comin' in,
Wicks was all on the look-out for the tub-
carriers, but oad Tom was up sides with him
from the beginnin'. The word was passed for
carriers to meet at Pest'us corner after dark,
an' there they did. An' there, sure enough was
Mr. Archie Wicks, an' one or two of his men,
lyin' low an' watchin', ready to follow wherever
the carriers might go. Sure enough they did
follow, an' the carriers, marchin' fair an' open
along the main road, led 'em all the way to
Prittywell, to the Spread Eagle, an' there they
went in, the whole gang of 'em, an' into the
clubroom. So Master Wicks, feelin' smarter
every minute, sends off a man as hard as he
could go to rouse up the chief-officer and bring
in the patrols from all along Leigh an' Bemfleet.
An' there he sat in hidin' an' waited, for he
guessed the run would be tried near by, an' the
carriers was just lyin' up in the Spread Eagle,
till they was signalled for. An' while Mr. Wicks
waited up by the Spread Eagle, the chief-officer
and all the patrols waited down on Sou'church
beach, to be handy as soon as the carriers
made a move.

"An' that was all that happened. All that
277

GREEN GINGER

happened. For the carriers they just sat down
an' had a sing-song, an' called for what they
pleased ! "

<c And then went home ? "

" Ay, they scattered all out an' went home
when the house closed at last. You can't follow
forty men goin' forty different ways home to
forty different places ! An' not much good if
you could. Golden Adams, that had charge o'
the gang, and was chairman o' the sing-song,
he come out first, an' called on Mr. Archie
Wicks for a song— out in the road, at the top
of his voice. So Mr. Wicks, a-lyin' there hidin'
behind the hedge, tumbled to the swindle and
sneaked off quiet enough, to make the best tale
he could to the chief-officer. He guessed then,
did Mr. Wicks, an' guessed right, that the
carriers hadn't been wanted that night to carry
off tubs at all, but just to carry off him an'
the rest o' the coastguard to a place where they
couldn't do no harm, while the cargo came
ashore safe an' easy somewhere else. So the fust
round of the fight was all agin Mr. Archie Wicks.
The carriers, they spent a jolly evening, and Tom
Blyth an' his boat's crew, they got their cargo
in quiet and secret, and everybody was pleased
except Mr. Archie Wicks an' the chief-officer, who
hadn't been kep' out o' bed so late for years.

278

WICKS'S WATERLOO

" But Mr. Wicks wasn't done for yet. Not
he. He knowed well enough the cargo had
been landed safe, an' put somewhere. Consekence
it were his business to find it. It were plain it
couldn't ha' gone far, the carriers not havin'
touched it, an' so he starts out to look for it
in the neighbourhood.

" I told you oad Tom Blyth had a darter.
Nell were her name, an' a very takin' sort o'
gal she were to look at at that time. Different
young chaps went a-courtin' to Nel Blyth at
different times, but just then 'twere Joe Furber
— a bit of a smuggler hisself, though a boat-
builder in the main. Mr. Archie Wicks, so
smart and knowin' among the gals as he were,
was allus ready to pass the time o' day to Nell
Blyth ; and so, the next mornin' after the sing-
song at Prinywell, up goes Mr. Wicks, all so
brave and gay in the Queen's uniform, to oad
Tom Blyth's to fascinate his darter Nell. He'd
took care to see oad Tom safe down at the
Smack Inn first ; and up went he, sure o' findin'
Nell alone.

" Nell weren't exactly alone, for Joe Furber
were there, talking with Nell over the fence.
But Mr. Archie Wicks were that clever an' free
with his chaff he soon had poor young Joe
dunted an' marthered altogether, an' sneakin' off

279

GREEN GINGER

alone, sulky an' beat out. An' then he turned
on his most gallivashious gammick to young
Nell, an' presently they were whisperin' an'
laughin' together that thick you'd never guess
there were such a party as poor young Joe
Furber alive.

"'Ah, well,' says Wicks, arter a bit, 'I'm
off duty now, an' when I'm off duty I can
shut my eyes as well as another. Eh ? You
know ! ' An' he winks most engagin'. * I can
shut my eyes to some things when I ain't on
duty, my dear, though not to a pretty face like
yourn. Why, I was up at — well, never mind
where, though I near let it out — I was up at
a place the other day where they mixed me
as stiff a noggin o' moonshine — ay, straight out
o' the tub, too — as ever I hope to taste. Prime
stuff it were ; but bein' all in the way o' friend-
ship, d'ye think I den't shut one eye ? Eh ?
Ay, an' both on 'em ! But I opened my mouth
— an' mighty glad to open it again for liquor
half as good, too ! If there was anybody to
try me.'

" ' An' could you take a drop now ? ' says
Nell, pleased as Punch with her new beau.
* Could you ? S'pose a friend were to offer it,
quiet ? '

" * Could I ? ' says Archie Wicks, pleased as
280

WICKS'S WATERLOO

she was, though for another reason. Could I ? *
says he. * Just you try me, my dear ! Lord
bless ye, I know well enough your dear old dad
can give a friend a drop o' the proper stuff,
or you for him ! An' if I can't shut my eyes
with such a nice gal as you about — well, I count
I know which way to turn 'em, as a friend ! '
" Well, young Nell Blyth, bright an' gigglin',
she took him into the keepin' room, an' she pulls
out a big chest from the wall, an' slides the
wainscot behind it. An' sure enough Mr. Archie
Wicks did know which way to turn his eyes, an'
there to see, behind the wainscot, rows an' rows
o' new tubs — all packed snug as cockles behind
the wall an' under the floor ! This was what
he'd come for, an' so mighty delighted was he
to see it that it was hard work to stop an' take
his drink. He did stop an' take it though. Nell
Blyth pulled a plug from the nearest tub an'

squibbed out a dram of well, of that stuff

you've been tryin' yourself, but forty year younger.
An' Archie Wicks, when he'd a-watered it, he
drinks most galliant to the prettiest gal in Essex,
otherwise called Nell Blyth, an' carried it all off
first rate, notwithstandin' he was longin' to run
an' make the seizure. He did more than that,
too. It struck him he'd like to take prisoners as
well as goods, an' philanderin' about to know

281

GREEN GINGER

when he were to see Nell next, she let slip that
her father was expectin' some friends after dark
that same evenin1 an' that she would be goin' out.

" * Ah ! ' says Wicks, more satisfied with
himself than he'd ever been before in his life,
' then we must put it off, my dear. 1 shall be
on duty to-night ! ' An' that was about all
the truth he'd spoken since breakfast.

" He pretty well guessed what the evenin'
meetin' meant, with the gal sent out o' the way,
an' he made up his mind to wait an' have men
and tubs together. An' so he did.

" He promised the chief-officer a real catch
this night, an' they fetched patrols an' boatmen
in, very quiet, from all ways alongshore. They
crep' up the hill by different ways an' lay down
snug all round the house, waitin'. An' then
Mr. Archie Wicks, bein' the smart man o' the
gang, he crarled round by the yard to where he
could peep in at the keepin'-room winder, where
the light were.

" 'Twere all in good train, as he could see.
There were oad Tom Blyth sittin' there with
Martin Cox — a man Mr. Wicks wanted near
as much as oad Tom hisself. They was a-sittin'
by the table, with glasses, grinnin' an' chucklin'
and talkin', and there were a tub, shameless an'
open, on the table before 'em, with a turnpipe

282

an' spigot in it. As he were peepin' there came
somebody along the lane, an' presently up got
oad Tom an' let in Jeff Cater by the front door.

ujeff sat down, an' oad Tom gets another
glass for him an' fills it at the tub, with his
back to Jeff as he did it. Wicks guessed he
were after givin' him the drink neat, to make
him cough, an' so 'twould seem. The stuff was
about a hundred over proof, so you may guess
what it 'ud be like without any water. Jeff took
a gulp, innocent enough, an' then began to cough
an' spit into the fire, while the others sat an'
laughed at him.

" Then oad Tom let in Sim Bartrip, an'
they played the same game on him. Sim nearly
coughed hisself black in the face, though if
you'd ha' knowed Sim an' his habits you'd ha'
backed him to swallow it bilin'.

" Then in comes Rob Sturt, an' they put
the joke on him. Well, to make it short, half
a dozen o' Tom's friends came in, countin' all,
an' each one was made to cough most outrageous,
while all the others as had been had in their
turns sat an' enjoyed the fun.

" Mr. Archie Wicks counted he'd seen enough,
so he crep' back to the chief-officer an' reported.
They waited a bit longer, but no more o' Tom
Blyth's friends showed up, an' 'twere gettin' late.

283

GREEN GINGER

So the chief-officer wouldn't wait no longer,
thinkin' seven smugglers an* a full cargo o' tubs
prize enough. So he brings up his men close
round the house, an' he an' Wicks goes and
bangs hard at the front door.

" Oad Tom comes to the door with a candle.
' Good-eveninY says oad Tom.

" ' Good-even in1,' says Wicks, shovin' his
back agin the door while the chief-officer stepped
in. l We've just come on a little perfessional
wisit, Mr. Blyth, an' it won't be any good you
jumpin' through the winders or what not, 'cos
the house is surrounded.'

" * All right,' says oad Tom, { what should I
want to jump through winders for ? '

" ' What for ? ' says Wicks, shovin' oad Tom
before him into the keepin'-room. * What for ?
Why, what d'ye call this here little party ? '
The tub was gone from the table, but that was
what he expected. ' What d'ye call this here
little party ? ' says Wicks.

" ' This here's a teetotal meetin',' says oad
Tom.

" ' Ah ! so I should ha' guessed,' says Wicks.
* Here, Wilkins ! ' he sings out, * you an' two
more o' you come an' pull out this chest.'

"'What d'ye want to come a-movin' my
furnitude about for?' says oad Tom Blyth,

284

WICKS'S WATERLOO

makin' to putt a bold face on it. < There ain't
nothen' o' yourn there ! No, nor nothin' agin
the law, nayther ! '

" ( Lucky for you if there ain't/ says Wicks.
An' with that he pulls back the wainscot, an'
there lay the tubs all in rows, snug as peas in a
pod, just as he'd seen in the mornin'.

" f All right,' says oad Tom, seein' there
was no more to be said. ' All right,' says
he, * I'll go quiet. But you don't want my
friends.'

" ' Ha, ha ! But we can't spare 'em yet ! '
says Wicks ; for there wasn't a man of 'em that
Wicks hadn't had his eye on for months. ' We'll
adjourn this here teetotal meeting solid as it
stands. Come along ! One at a time, please —
whistle the rest in, Wilkins ! '

" An' so there went down the hill such a
procession as ain't been seen since. There was
the seven prisoners an' the tubs, an' all Leigh
out in their night-rig to see the show. Master
Archie Wicks was prancin' on the wind, like
a promoted peacock in full flight, an' he
pitched off the gammick of the teetotal meetin'
left and right. In them days teetotal meetin's
were things you only read about in the papers,
up in Lancashire an' thereaway, an' the joke of
a teetotal meetin' of oad smugglers here in Essex,

285

GREEN GINGER

sittin' round a cargo o' tubs, went through Leigh
like fireworks.

" When they was all safe in the Custom-' us
at last, oad Tom Blyth ups and says : * Well
now, Mr. Wicks, you an' your men had better
set about broachin' your 'lowance tub, for how-
ever it goes I admit you've earned it ! "

" In them days, you see, when there was a
seizure, one tub went to the men as a sort o'
perquisite. I doubt it wouldn't be allowed now,
but then 'twere quite the reg'lar thing. So Mr.
Wicks, ready enough, rememberin' his mornin'
dram, sticks a gimlet into the first tub that comes,
and fills pannikins right an' left. But he never
emptied that tub. Afore he'd gone down a dozen
pannikins there was some of his men a-coughin'
an' a-spittin as fast as any o' the smugglers
up at Blyth's. ' Why, choke me blind ! ' roars
the one as got his tongue first ; ' it's WATER ! '

"An* that was just what it was — water, every
tub of it ! They had been full o' white brandy
once, but there were plugged-up gimlet holes
in every tub, an' nothin' but water inside 'em !

" ' Why,' said oad Tom Blyth, lookin' sur-
prised, ' o' course it's water. What did I tell
ye ? Den't 1 say it was a teetotal meetin' ? '

" * 'Course he did/ sings out the other smugglers.
f An* you've been a-callin' it a teetotal meetin'

286

WICKS'S WATERLOO

yourself, at the top of your voice, all through
Leigh town ! What did ye expect to find if
'twern't water, eh ? '

" * I dunno why me an' my friends hev been
brought down here in this ill-conwenient way,'
says oad Tom very solemn, * but I do know
as I insist on these here tubs o' water bein' carried
back to where they kim from ! '

u Well, well ; I've seen a number o' fanteegs
round these parts in my time, but in all ninety
year I never heard such a dovercourt as there
were over that teetotal meetin'. Wicks was glad
to get a shove on to another station. Of course,
you may guess the time hadn't been wasted
while that teetotal meetin' was on, an' while all
the preventive men for miles round were attendin'
to it. The carriers had taken their evenin' off
the night before, but this night it was their turn
to work. Golden Adams captained 'em again,
an' they whipped off the real tubs from wherever
they were hid while the teetotal meetin' were in
full blast. Two nights runnin' oad Tom Blyth
had got all the coastguards in a crowd together
just where it suited him best, an' finished up
by makin' 'em the joke of half Essex."

" It seems to me," I said, " that something
depended on Nell Blyth, too."

" Nell Blyth," said Roboshobery, " were an
287

GREEN GINGER

obedient gal, an' more to it, she did what she
were told with a proper gumption. You know
her."

" I ? "

" Yes, I count you do. She went past this
here winder while I was talkin'."

"What, old Mrs. Furber?"

" What you'd call old, sir, no doubt, though
she might be my darter. Joe Furber died ten
year back."

288

The Drinkwater Romance
i

IVAR. REGINALD DRINKWATER had
*"* rooms in the Temple. That was almost
all of importance that could be said about Mr.
Reginald Drinkwater, whose life had been wholly
uneventful for the twenty-four years of it that had
passed before he encountered this, his first adven-
ture of a romantic complexion.

Mr. Drinkwater had not been called to the
bar — he had not even begun to read with that
purpose ; but he was here, at the Temple, quite
convenient if ever he should definitely decide to
take that step. In fact, he had literary leanings,
and had long reasoned with himself that, if he
should actually embrace the profession of letters,
any time spent in preparing for the law would be
wasted, and waste of time was a vice against which
a literary man should guard himself with especial
care.

He had not actually produced any literary
work, for that, as everybody knows, is not a thing

289 u

GREEN GINGER

to be rushed at. But he had taken the chambers
once occupied by a novelist of great reputation,
and had laid in a large stock of manuscript paper
of the sort said to be used by Mr. Thomas Hardy,
and a fountain-pen having a testimonial from Mr.
Hall Caine ; so that there remained no obstacle to
success, in case his final decision should set him in
the direction of his inclinations. Meantime, he
received from his mother in Bedfordshire a regular
allowance which was quite sufficient for his quiet
requirements, and he wisely reflected that so long
as one refrained from committing oneself irre-
vocably to one or other profession one avoided
the possibility of an error which might cause
serious regret throughout the rest of one's career.
Mr. Drinkwater's rooms had the advantage of a
situation from which one looked into the windows,
a few yards away, of the chambers of the great
Buss, K.C. The two sets of rooms, in fact,
adjoined at the back of next-door houses set at an
angle, so that Reginald Drinkwater, were it not
for the general decorum of his behaviour and his
particular reverence for his distinguished neigh-
bour, might have peashot Buss, K.C., at short
range, when the windows were a little open.
Also, if Buss, K.C., had not been a very fat,
stumpy little man, with very short arms, and it he
and Reginald Drinkwater had been acquainted,

290

THE DRINKWATER ROMANCE

they might have shaken hands across the sills of
the two windows closest to the angle over the
little yard below. This, indeed, was a neighbourly
courtesy of which Reginald had dreamed as a
possibility in his future times of eminence.
Meanwhile, what with the proximity of Buss,
K.C., and the literary associations of his own
rooms, he felt himself rather eminent than other-
wise, already.

" Ah yes," he would say on the infrequent
occasion of a friend's visit ; " they are old Buss's
rooms. Fine collection of old silver he's got
there, too." Which looked almost as though
Reginald were a familiar visitor of Buss, K.C. ;
though, in fact, he only knew of the fine old
silver, as others did, by report, and from the
newspaper accounts of auction sales at which the
great Buss was a buyer.

When Mr. Reginald Drinkwater's inactivity
had so endured for a good while he conceived a
grievance against his very comfortable circum-
stances, in that his life had been wholly empty or
adventure. This, he told himself, was the reason
that he had not as yet launched on a brilliant
literary career ; for he had heard on high authority
that one could only write in the light of one's own
actual experience. So he took to seeking adven-
ture in the streets of London, where, he believed,

291

GREEN GINGER

from the teaching of many magazine stones, it
was very readily encountered. But his luck was
out, for after many attempts he was rewarded
with nothing better than the purchase of a dummy
pawn-ticket from a plausible young man in Fetter
Lane. It is possible that a naturally retiring
disposition hindered Reginald's ambitions, since,
after all, London is a strange and adventurous
place enough, as he was at length convinced.
For indeed his romance came at last.

He had left his rooms one February afternoon,
with the simple design of buying tobacco at a
shop in Kleet Street ; and because it was to
be so short an expedition he had merely locked
his inner door and left his "oak" swung open.
The " oak " and the inner door, it may be ex-
plained parenthetically, stood, as is usual, scarce
two feet apart, and the former, a ponderous
iron-strapped fabric, was only locked when the
inmate was away from home, or, being in, desired
no visitors.

Reginald Drinkwater bought the tobacco he
required, and strolled easily back up Fleet Street
with his purchase in his pocket and his ignoble
condition in his mind. Here he walked, in the
midst of six million romances — for he had read,
and therefore believed, that every life held its
own — and not only had he found no romance

292

THE DRINKWATER ROMANCE

himself, but he could guess at none of those about
him. So Reginald walked, puzzled and ill-con-
tent, unaware that his romance waited for him a
hundred strides away, and was nearer with every
step.

He turned in at the Temple Gate and twisted
left and right through the passages leading to his
quarters, musing gloomily ; and so he ascended
the stairs, and reached his landing to perceive
that his " oak " was standing much closer than he
had left it. He swung it back, and stood
amazed. For here was his romance.

Crouching between the " oak " and the inner
door, shrinking into the angle farthest from him,
her lips parted and her eyes full of fear, was the
most beautiful girl he had ever seen or ever
wished to see.

Her heavy veil was flung back from her now
pale face, her eyes were black and large and
appealing, and her skin, brilliantly clear, had the
tone of ivory.

" You will not hurt me ? " she pleaded.
" You are not an enemy ? "

Reginald, confounded by the vision before him,
and too anxious to remove such an impression to
be wholly coherent, stammered fervent denials.
Except for the lady's own obvious terror he
would have been a little frightened himself, for

293

GREEN GINGER

he was young and susceptible, and prone to
nervousness in female society.

" I am much afraid," she said. " I am pursued.
You are not angry that I should hide in your
doorway ? "

He protested, still with some confusion, that
nothing was so far from his thoughts ; and was
adding that, on the contrary, he was ready and
anxious to do anything on earth to save her,
when she checked him with raised forefinger, and
a head turned to listen.

" Was not that a step ? " she said. " Is there
nobody else on the stairs ? "

They listened together, but there was no sound.

"They are waiting, then," she said, "and
watching to me — watching for me at the outside.
Can I not go by another door ? "

There was no other door, he explained, and in-
deed there was no need for such an exit. If she
would place herself under his protection he would
be happy to see her safely

"No, no!" she interrupted ; u you do not
understand how bad it is. I should be followed
— they would kill me somewhere else — and my
brother, my dear brother ! I must wait a little
while. I think they do not know it is in this
house I have come. You will be kind, sir, will
you not ? I have not one friend ; and if you will

294

THE DRINKWATER ROMANCE

let me stay in your room a little while, till it
comes dark, I can escape, I think. You are very
kind — will you let me stay a little while ? "

It might seem an odd request in ordinary ;
but the circumstances were far from ordinary now.
To Reginald, who had met his adventure at last,
they were stunning, bewildering. Could he
possibly drive away a friendless girl — to meet the
strange perils she feared, alone ? Was he not
rather conscious of a secret joy that the danger,
whatever it was, had driven her to his protecting
arm ? He turned the key in the inner door, and
thrust it open.

" Oh, you are very kind, sir — so very kind,"
the stranger repeated as she entered ; and it was
only now that Reginald noticed that she said
" vehry " and that her whole accent and manner
were a little foreign. " You have saved me," she
continued, still much agitated ; " and my brother
— especially you have saved my dear brother ! "

" Your brother ? " repeated Reginald, with a
doubtful look about the staircase as he closed the
door. tc Your brother ? "

" Yes — my dear brother. He is not here — he
is hiding. That is why I am so afraid to be
followed, for then they will find him. Oh, the
wicked men ! They are so very cruel ! "

The beautiful girl sank into a chair and buried

295

GREEN GINGER

her face in her hands. Reginald, his whole soul
filled with indignation that the world could hold
creatures so base as to put her to such distress,
was tortured with helplessness. If only he could
do something — if only the unknown enemy stood
tangibly before him !

Presently she looked up and spoke again.
" Pardon me," she said ; " I am very weak when 1
should be very strong. You are a kind friend, but
I should not trouble you with these things. Per-
haps I can go away. Can they see these windows
from the street ? "

Reginald hastened to reassure her. The win-
dows overlooked nothing but a private yard, to
which there was no access from any public place.

" You are really quite safe," he protested.
" And if there is anything I can do — anything in
the world — if I am not intruding on private affairs,
and you will tell me "

But her attention was fixed on the windows.
" Perhaps," she said, " I could go that way, if
the other houses have doors in other streets.
There is no other door here, you say, but the
windows would not be so difficult — to go out by
that house."

She nodded toward Mr. Buss's rooms. But,
as Reginald explained, Mr. Buss was away,
taking a fortnight on the Riviera, and the door

296

THE DRINKWATER ROMANCE

of his chambers would be locked. At the same
time it gave him a further sense of the desperate
situation of this delicate girl, that she should
for a moment contemplate an escape by the
expedient of scrambling from one window to
another across an angle of wall thirty feet above
the yard. He strove again to reassure her.

" That way is not possible," he said ; " but
you are really quite safe. Perhaps you have
come from a country where the police are not "

She looked up quickly.

" From another country ? " she said. " You
know I am not English ? And they say my
English is so good ! How quick and clever
you are ! "

Never had flattery sounded so sweet in Reginald's
ears. Indeed flattery was a thing to them sin-
gularly unfamiliar, so small was his acquaintance
with the world.

" Your English," he replied, " is splendid-
beautiful ! But I thought — I supposed — some-
thing suggested that you were a foreigner, and
I wish to tell you that our London police "

u Yes, I know — they are excellent," she inter-
rupted. " Better, I hope, at least than those
of my poor country, where they have allowed
a terrible crime — a horrible crime — that has
made the whole world shudder ! "

GREEN GINGER

Reginald thought instantly of Portugal and
the murder of the king and his son ; for the
newspapers has been clamorous with the crime
for a week past. " Do you speak of Portugal ? "
he asked tentatively.

" Ah, indeed ! " she replied with a melancholy
smile. ** My poor country ! It is wonderful that
you should judge so well ; it is good for me
that you are my friend, and not my enemy ! Do
you guess also what is my trouble ? Shall I tell

3 "

you r

There was nothing in the world that could
interest Reginald Drinkwater half so much, and
he said so, in something very near those terms.
" Unless," he added, " you would rather — rather
not tell me."

" If it does not trouble you — ' bore ' you, is
it not ? — I would much like to tell you," she
said. " It is so good to trust to a good friend ;
and when you have been so kind to shelter me
from my enemies it is only right that I should
tell you why I have asked your help. There has
been great trouble in my country, and my dear
brother Luiz and I have escaped to England.
You have heard of the trouble ? '

" Oh, yes — of course. The late dictator also
has left Portugal, I believe. You are not related
to him ? "

298

THE DRINKWATER ROMANCE

<f To him ? To the oppressor ? To the man
who has caused everything ? Never — that is -not
one of our misfortunes, I thank heaven. My
dear brother was of the opposite party — the
republicans."

" I see ; and was implicated, I suppose, in
the— the "

" Do you mean in the horrible crime — the
assassination of the poor king and the prince ?
Ah, never ! You could never suppose it if you
knew my brother Luiz — never ! We are of
good family, and my brother could have no part
in such doings. That is why we are here, and
in such trouble. There were bad men in the re-
publican party as well as good ; indeed the bad men
gained a great ascendency, and it is by them that
the king was assassinated. My brother opposed
them in the party and they became his enemies.
Because of that they nominated him to join
with the others in the crime ; he was to prove
his constancy, they said. But instead he gave
a warning, so that the assassins were obliged to
change their plans. Have you read of it in the
journals ? You will see that they killed the
poor king and the prince in the street, near the
public offices. At first it was to be on the quay,
when they landed ; but of that my brother gave
secret warning, and on the quay they were very

GREEN GINGER

carefully guarded. Why did they not guard
them as carefully for the rest of the journey ?
1 cannot say ; hut the thing happened, as now
you know, and my brother and I fled to England
to escape the vengeance of the republican com-
mittee, who knew of the warning he had sent,
and who were angry that the queen and the
other prince had not been killed too. You may
read the journals, but you do not know what
terrible things are going on in Lisbon, even
now ! "

" But surely you are safe here ! "

" On the contrary, our enemies followed us
by a ship that left the day after our own. We
have changed our lodgings twice, but to-day I have
been followed by two men — men that I have
seen in Lisbon. I was terrified, and could not
guess what to do. I came into the gardens here
from the street, and walked about in the narrow
courtyards, but they still followed. I think I
must have escaped them for a moment when I
turned into this court ; but I found that there
was no way out, so I ran up these stairs ; and
when I heard you coming, I feared they must
have seen me enter and were still pursuing me.
I did not suppose it would be a friend — such a
kind friend ; if you will not be angry that I call
you my friend ? "

300

THE DRINKWATER ROMANCE

To this, Reginald Drinkwater, flushing with
delight and stammering with confusion, made
a wild and random answer. " It is delightful
to hear you say it," he said, continuing, " and
I wish I could do more — much more- — anything —
to make you say it again. Surely I can help
you in some other way — some more important
way ? "

She smiled sadly and shook her head.

" That is very noble of you," she said ; " but I
think there is nothing — nothing at least that
might not be dangerous, which I should have no
right to ask of you."

"But tell me what it is," protested Reginald
vehemently, " and I will do it. Surely my know-
ledge of this country may be of use to strangers
like you and your brother ? "

" I have been in England before," she said ,
" though of course you must understand your
own country better than I. And perhaps — when
I have told my brother of your kindness — perhaps
he may know of some way in which you might
help us, if you will let me remind you of your
offer."

" If you will only promise that, whatever it is
you ask me, you will make me happy," declaimed
Reginald, with enthusiasm. " Will you promise
it?

301

GREEN GINGER

" Senor," she began, looking up at his face —
" but you have not yet told me your name."

Reginald repeated it, with an odd feeling that
it had become a duller and less imposing name
since he had last seen it, painted on his oak,
only a few minutes ago.

" Mr. Reginald Drinkwater," she said — and at
once the name became beautiful on her lips — " 1
will promise." She extended her hand. " I am
Lucia da Silva."

The light in the courtyard was grown dull and
dusk in the short February afternoon. " Perhaps
it will be safe to go now," she said, rising and
bending to peer once more from the window.
" If," she added, " if you will do one little thing
for me. Will you go first and see if they are
watching ? There are two men, one rather tall,
though not very, and one small and short ; both
dark men. They must not see me go."

Reginald repeated that he was ready to do
anything, but suggested, in the meantime, tea
from his gas-stove. His visitor, however, begged,
with a very pretty anxiety, to be excused. She
must lose no more time, she said, for already her
brother would be alarmed at her long absence.
And so Reginald left her and descended the
staircase to scout from the front door.

As he went he was aware of somebody hurry-
302

THE DRINKWATER ROMANCE

ing down before him on the lower flights ; and
when he emerged from the door he saw a man
walking sharply away near the corner of the court.
The man was alone, however, and though cer-
tainly not short, nor small, but stoutly built, was
scarcely of a stature that anybody would call tall,
being of about middle height. Reginald followed
to the corner, and there watched while the stranger
disappeared round the next, and his footsteps
died away toward Middle Temple Lane. This
would seem to have been merely a visitor leaving
some of the lower rooms, and whoever he was, he
was gone ; so Reginald returned, looking out
sharply as he walked. Nowhere was there a pair
of lurking men — nowhere, indeed, a pair of men
at all. A clerk or two hurrying home early, a
tradesman's boy with a basket and a tuneless
whistle, an old messenger with his badge, and
nobody else ; nobody hiding in doorways, nobody
lounging. Clearly the chase must have been
abandoned. So he returned with his report, and
found the beautiful fugitive awaiting him in the
doorway. Could she go ? Was the way quite
clear ?

Reginald Drinkwater took coat, gloves and
stick, and the two went out together. From her
description it seemed clear that she had entered
the Temple by the Middle Temple Lane gate ;

303

GREEN GINGER

so now Reginald made it a point of strategy to
leave by way of Whitefriars, where he knew a cab
could be found in a quiet street.

The cab was found, and then Reginald met a
certain disappointment. For Lucia would not
permit him to accompany her for even part of the
way.

" You are most kind, but it is better — much
better — that I go alone," was all she would say ;
but there was that in her manner which made it
final.

Reginald accepted his defeat. " Where shall
I tell the man to drive ? " he asked.

For a moment she hesitated, with an odd look
of doubt, which Reginald found himself resenting.
Then she said : " Perhaps I shall not drive all the
way ; it may be better not. Tell him to go first
to Farringdon Road."

" And you will not forget your promise ? "

l< To ask you for help ? No — I shall not
forget it. Perhaps I shall come quite soon —
when I have talked with my brother."

With that the cab was gone, and Reginald
Drinkwater tried hard to realize, as he went home
across King's Bench Walk in the dark, the visible
fact that here indeed was romance and adventure
after all, in workaday London, and himself in the
midst of it.

304

THE DRINK WATER ROMANCE

ON the next morning after the visit of the
wonderful Portuguese, Reginald, his breakfast
finished, took his daily morning stroll in Fleet
Street. He did this partly out of respect for
Fleet Street, and a feeling that he was in some
vague way growing literary in its precincts, but
chiefly because for an hour after breakfast Mrs.
Churcher, the laundress, made his rooms un-
endurable with pails and brooms, and a constant
perambulation of her unclean self, which was in
theory presumed to result in an accession of
cleanliness to the premises. He returned per-
haps a trifle later than usual, but found Mrs.
Churcher still in possession — waiting for him, in
fact, at the door.

" There's bin a young lady 'ere for to see you,
sir," she announced, in that voice of greasy
huskiness by which the Temple laundress is dis-
tinguished from the rest of her sex. c< A foring
young lady as give the name of Silver, or de
Silver. She wouldn't wait, but she said p'r'aps
she'd call agin, sir."

" Did she say anything else ? "

" No, sir ; she didn't leave no other message."

Reginald was angry with himself for his delay
in Fleet Street, and questioned further. The

305 x

GREEN GINGER

young lady had been gone, now, some twenty
minutes or half an hour. No, she hadn't said
anything in particular, beyond asking for him,
and bringing in with her Mrs. Churcher's
bunch of keys, which she had supposed to be
Mr. Drinkwater's, left in the outer door by
accident.

Reginald had his lunch sent in, and kept
within doors for the rest of the day ; but he saw
nothing of Lucia da Silva. After breakfast next
morning he perceived, with uncommon serenity,
that the weather was damp and foggy, and afforded
some sort of excuse for hanging about in his
rooms, or at farthest on the stairs and lobby,
while Mrs. Churcher performed her daily rites.
But he waited and watched in vain till Mrs.
Churcher had been gone out an hour, and more.

Then at last there was a timid tap at his door,
which he opened instantly, to see Lucia before
him.

" I have come," she said, " only because I
have made you a promise. Do you remember the
promise ? "

" Indeed I do — that you would tell me if I
could be in any way of service to you and your
brother. Tell me, now, what I can do."

" I think, perhaps, you might not like it."

" If it will serve you — and your brother — I
306

THE DRINKWATER ROMANCE

shaJl delight in it. I will( do anything. What
is it ? "

" They have discovered our lodgings — the
men."

u The men who were watching you ? "

" Yes. How 1 do not know. Perhaps they
followed the cab — perhaps some other way ; who
can tell ? They have found us out again, and
we must go ; but they are watching us, and it
is difficult."

" Where will you go ? "

" That is for my brother to settle ; but 1 think
he has plans, if — if we have a friend — a devoted,
noble friend who will help us. Will you be
the noble friend ? "

" Of course — I have promised. I will do any-
thing. What is the plan ? "

" I will say what my brother thinks. We
have been going out, my brother and I, every
evening, in a cab, to dinner at a restaurant. Will
you come with me to-night, instead of my
brother ? "

Could there be a pleasanter deed of heroism ?
Reginald heard the proposal with perhaps as much
relief as surprise, for this was an act of devotion
that he was quite ready to perform every day of
his life. u It will give me the greatest pleasure,"
he said. " Where shall I come for you ? "

307

GREEN GINGER

" This is where we are staying," she replied,
and handed him a card. It was that of a
house — obviously a boarding-house — in a quiet
square near the New River Head ; a place
that Reginald remembered to have seen in his
wanderings in London, and to have noticed
because of its contrast of character with the
neighbouring streets.

" You must not come to the front door, " she
resumed, " as you will understand when I explain.
There is a path behind the houses, with stables.
Each house has a door in the garden wall, and
you must come to the fourth, where I shall be
waiting before six o'clock ; let us say half-past
five."

" That will be early for dinner, won't it?"

" Oh, we need not go to dinner at once. Often
my brother and I go out early. The house on
the north side of the square, remember. Will
you come ? I must not wait here — my brother
is expecting me. You will come ? "

Nothing should stop him, Reginald resolved,
that left him with legs to stand on ; and he said so,
in more elegant terms. And even as he was
gathering his wits to frame certain inquiries that
should not seem to pry, she was gone, with a press
of the hand and a glance from her black eyes that
kept him vastly elated for ten minutes ; at the

308

THE DR1NKWATER ROMANCE

end of which period it dawned on him, as it
might have done before, that it must be intended
that he should assume the character of Lucia's
brother for the evening, together with the liabilities
of that relationship, including any casual bullet
that his enemies might consider a suitable token
of their sentiments. With that his elation sensibly
diminished, and it occurred to him that it was
much pleasanter to listen to Lucia's praises of
his magnanimity than to do anything to deserve
them.

Still, it was an adventure, and he was in for
it beyond withdrawal ; moreover, the danger
somehow did not affect him as very immediate.
The design appeared fairly clear. He was to
enter the house from the back unobserved, and
to leave it from the front, so as to draw off
the attention of the watchers. Then, while the
house was free from their observation, Luiz da
Silva would make his escape and find some other
retreat. " You must not come to the front
door," Lucia had said, " as you will understand
when I explain." But she had explained nothing
as yet, and no doubt meant to reserve explana-
tions till his arrival ; though the plan seemed
clear enough.

On the whole he decided that he must dress
for dinner. He could not tell whether or not

309

GREEN GINGER

Luiz da Silva had brought a dress-suit with him,
that being one of the things he had meant to
ask ; but it could make little difference, either
way. So dress he did.

The fog thickened during the day, and it was
dark some time before the hour fixed. Reginald
left his cab a street or two away, and walked
the remaining distance. The square was not
difficult to find, nor the pathway behind the
garden wall ; and as he reached the fourth of
the doors it opened while his hand was raised
to tap, and he could see Lucia's dim figure
within.

"Hush !" she said, "do not speak now. It
is most noble of you."

She took his arm, led him in and quietly closed
and fastened the door. The garden was a small
enough space, but they traversed it slowly as well
as noiselessly ; and Reginald began to feel that
this was something more like an adventure than
any previous experience of his life. They climbed
a short flight of stone steps, and entered the
house by a door which stood ajar ; and then she
spoke again.

" There is a cab waiting," she said. ** Will
you turn up your coat-collar ? If you will do
that, and pull your hat a little forward, you
will look much like my brother."

310

THE DRINKWATER ROMANCE

He did as he was bid, and they emerged into
the dim light of the hall, with its feeble gas-jet.
He could now see that Lucia was already pre-
pared, with hat and cloak. She opened the front
door.

u I think they are at the corner of the square,
to the left," she whispered. " Do not look in
that direction, but come straight into the cab.
We go to the Cafe Royal"

The door shut softly behind them, and
Reginald, his eyes fixed rigidly on the cab,
valiantly resisted a desperate impulse to plunge
into it headlong, and descended the steps with
nervous deliberation. Truly this was an adventure
at last.

He experienced a feeling of much relief when
they were safely seated in the cab and bowling
through the streets toward Bloomsbury ; but he
got little conversation from his companion, who
seemed nervous and thoughtful. He ventured
to doubt the possibility that they were being
followed ; but she assured him that she and her
brother had been followed on just such an
occasion on the previous evening, a little later,
and surmised that the enemy must keep a cab
within call. And to a suggestion that an arrival
at the Cafe Royal at six o'clock would be a
little awkward she replied that there was a very

311

GREEN GINGER

particular reason for it, which her brother would
explain in detail when he had the happiness of
personally meeting Mr. Drinkwater, to whom he
would be eternally grateful.

Through Hart Street they turned into New
Oxford Street, and so down Shaftesbury Avenue.
As they neared Piccadilly Circus she spoke again.
<c If you will pay the man through the roof-door,"
she said, " we shall not have to stand long when
we alight."

Reginald admired the mental alertness that
could suggest this expedient to a foreigner in
London, and complied with the suggestion ; so
that when the cab pulled up before the Cafe
Royal they lost no time in reaching the swing-
doors. Reginald saw, with some apprehension,
that another cab stopped a little way behind them ;
though after all with so many other cabs about
it might not be worth considering.

The doors swung behind them, and Reginald
felt a further accession of confidence. What
an adventure !

But here he encountered surprise and disap-
pointment. For Lucia turned to him and said
hurriedly : " Oh, Mr. Drinkwater, I can never
repay you ! How brave you are ! I have been in
terrible fear for you all the way. Perhaps I ought
not to have brought you, but there was no other

312

THE DRINKWATER ROMANCE

friend for my dear brother — the brother I love
so well ! Will you promise to stay here, and
not show yourself outside till after dinner ? Till
nine o'clock ? "

" Certainly — we must wait before dinner — we
— we "

" Thank you, oh, thank you ! " she inter-
rupted, seizing his hand. " I must leave you
now — I must go at once to my brother. There
is a side door here, I know, into a little dark
street ; I shall not be seen. I will see you, or
write to you, very soon. Good-bye, my noble
friend ! "

And with that she was gone, leaving Reginald
dumb and blinking. So he stood till it occurred
to him that he was attracting notice ; which indeed
he was. Whereupon he stalked gloomily across
the room and flung himself into a seat ; and being
impelled to do something desperate, he ordered
absinthe, which he did not like, but which was
the most desperate form of refreshment he could
think of.

He sat alone and glowered and smoked cigarettes
for an hour and a half ; a period of time which
sufficed to relieve his disappointment, and arouse
his interest in the very excellent dinner which
was to follow. And the excellent dinner reconciled
him^to his circumstances so far that he began to

GREEN GINGER

congratulate himself on having very cleverly
foiled a very desperate gang of conspirators.
He fell to wondering when and how he should
next hear of Lucia da Silva ; and so, a little past
nine o'clock, he made his way home on foot,
rather better satisfied with himself, on the whole,
than he had felt after any other dinner he could
remember. For he had an idea that he had
acquitted himself very well ; and, indeed, it was a
very jewel of an adventure.

Once more next morning he endured the
society of Mrs. Churcher after breakfast — the
fog was even heavier, to-day — but there was no
caller. None, indeed, till the afternoon, and then
it was a messenger-boy, with a letter ; a letter
written on scented paper in violet ink, but scribbled
so hurriedly that it was often difficult to separate
words and sentences. This done, however, it
read thus :

MY DEAR FRIEND, — My brother and I cannot
thank you enough for your generous kindness
last night, which, alas, did not avail so effectually
as we had hoped. The watching enemy were, as
you know, two, and it would seem that only
one followed us, leaving the other, the small,
short man, to watch and confront my brother.
This led to something which has altered our

3'4

THE DRINKWATER ROMANCE

plans and makes us ask you for one favour
more. Will you do it ? Do not refuse after
such kindness as you have shown. Will you
go with a cab this evening at about six to the
house we have left and bring away a large box ?
Enclosed is a note for the landlady, who will
give you the box, and will hand you a hasty note
of instructions I have left. Do not stay to read
that note till you are in the cab and safely away
with the box, and do not let the cab stand at
the house longer than you can help. Also do
not mention our real name to the landlady — you
will understand that we have been obliged to
conceal it. This time you will go to the front
door, of course. Send me a note by this messenger
saying that you will do this without fail.

Ever yours gratefully and hopefully,

LUCIA.

Here was more food for Reginald's romantic
appetite, which was by no means sated yet, but
rather sharpened by experience. He longed to
learn what had happened as the result of the
encounter of Luiz and his enemy, and how the
plot stood now. So he sent by the messenger
a hurried note that he would certainly and gladly
do all that was asked of him, and addressed
himself to preparations. Such an adventure !

315

GREEN GINGER

III

IT was within a very few minutes of six that
Reginald's cab — this time a four-wheeler, because
the box might be large — brought him once more
to the house in Pentonville. There was some
little difficulty in finding it, for the fog had been
thickening all day. This he judged an advantage
as regarded the removal of the box — a thing no
doubt that would be better done unobserved.

His knock brought to the door a very common-
place general servant, who took the note, and
presently returned with another, addressed in
Lucia's handwriting, to himself. Then she led
him into a side room and shortly indicated the
box by a jerk of the hand and a suggestion that
he would find it c< pretty heavy."

It was a larger box than he had expected, long
and unwieldy, and more than he could carry by
himself. So he called the cabman, and they found
it no very easy carrying, together ; the cabman,
in fact, growling furiously.

The box safely mounted on the roof, Reginald
lost no time in entering the cab, giving the
cabman the first direction for Farringdon Road,
that being the nearest main road he could think
of at the moment. After an excruciating delay —
the cabman was exasperatingly deliberate with his

THE DRINKWATER ROMANCE

rug — they moved off, and Reginald pulled out
his note of instructions. It was even more
hurriedly scribbled, he noticed, than the letter
he had received by the messenger-boy a few hours
before, the words running on with scarcely a lift
of the pen, and no punctuation at all. The
streets were dark as well as foggy, and he could
only catch a glimpse on the paper now and again
as they passed a shop or an uncommonly bright
street-lamp, and one or two of the more legible
words started out and vanished again. " Waterloo
Station " was clear, near the bottom, and higher
up " trouble," "difficulty," and u remains." At
this last word Reginald sat up with an awful
shock. Remains ? What was in that heavy box
on the roof?

At this moment the cab emerged into a street
so full of lighted shops that the whole note
became plain ; separating words and sentences
with some difficulty, this is what he read :

" Sorry to trouble, but difficulty with small man
caused. Troublesome thing. We must remove
remains in box. Trust you implicitly. Bring to
York Road gate of Waterloo Station 6.30."

What words can paint the consternation of
Reginald Drinkwater as he read this note ? " We
must remove remains in box ! " This, then, was

31?

GREEN GINGER

the event that had altered their plans and caused
them u to ask one favour more." The encounter
in the fog between Luiz de Silva and his enemy
had ended in the death of the small man, and
here was he, Reginald Drinkwater, carrying the
corpse across London in a cab !

The callousness of the note, too ! The " diffi-
culty " with the small man had caused the trouble,
and it — or he — was merely a u troublesome
thing ! " A truly Southern contempt of human
life!

As he sat, amazed and confounded, the cab
pulled up in Farringdon Road, and the driver,
with growls from the box, invited further in-
structions.

The interruption recalled Reginald to action.
"The York Road gate of Waterloo Station," he
said, " as quick as you can get there 1 "

For, indeed, this was all he could do. They
trusted him ; he had accepted the trust and had
given his word, though he had never guessed
what it involved. And after all, he reflected, this
was a different thing, far from murder ; nothing
but simple self-defence. Though that considera-
tion somehow made very little difference to the
horror of the long box on the roof and what it
held.

The cab crawled and thumped and clattered

THE DRINKWATER ROMANCE

through the fog, and Reginald prayed for the fog
to thicken and so hide the ghastly box from
human sight. And thicken it did, so that after
a martyrdom of stopping and starting and craw-
ling through Farringdon Road and Street, the
vehicle emerged from Ludgate Circus to encounter
an increasing blackness in New Bridge Street.
On it crept, close by the kerb, and presently was
lost in an immensity of mist, wherein nothing
could be seen but nebulous lights in distant
random spots. They were making across the end
of Queen Victoria Street for Blackfriars Bridge.

The voyage across this smoky ocean seemed to
be the longest stretch of the interminable journey.
Once or twice the lights of some other vehicle
neared and faded again, and shouts came from
invisible depths ; but the traffic hereabout was
sparse just now. Reginald had begun to consider
the possibility that the cab was making circles
among the multitudinous crossings of these
regions, when suddenly the horse stumbled and
fell in a heap.

The cabman made one roll of it out of his rug
and off the box, and was dimly visible hauling at
his horse's head and clearly audible cursing its
entire body. The horse, for its own part, seemed
disposed to approve of the situation, and willingly
to accept the opportunity for a prolonged rest.

319

GREEN GINGER

Blows and shouts, it would seem to reflect, were
much the same, lying or standing, and lying was
the easier posture.

Reginald's terrors increased tenfold ; there
would be a crowd, and a policeman, and the long
box would be hauled down under general obser-
vation ; and in his disordered memory the thing
seemed now to have looked so like a stumpy
coffin that he wondered he had not suspected it at
once. He must, at any rate, keep it from the eye
of a policeman.

He scrambled out, and addressed the cabman.
** If your horse is long getting up," he said, " I'll
have another cab. I'm in a hurry."

" All right," replied the cabman, extending his
palm. " I've 'ad enough of it, if you 'ave. 'E
ain't a easy one to get up, once 'e's down, an' I
b'lieve 'is knees is cut. Gimme my fare."

Reginald hastily produced half a crown, and
stood as firmly as he could while the man shoved
the horrible box into his arms, and then slung his
end on the neighbouring curb. Having done
which the cabman turned his attention once more
to his horse, leaving his late fare to wrestle his
luggage across the pavement ; for Reginald's
immediate purpose was to elude the eye of the
policeman who must inevitably arrive to inspect
the recumbent horse.

320

THE DRINKWATER ROMANCE

Plainly the cab had strayed in the wide space
before Blackfriars Bridge, and wandered diagonally
across the approach ; for now Reginald perceived
that he had landed on the footpath of the Victoria
Embankment. He pushed the box, end over
end, into the darkest available spot under the
parapet, and peered out into the choking fog in
search of another cab.

But very soon he began to understand that he
was attempting something near an impossibility.
A passing light in the wide, dark road was the
most that could be seen of any cab, and each dash
from the curb which he made only revealed that
the cab was engaged. He began to grow seriously
alarmed. He could not carry the thing — indeed
he began to experience a growing repugnance to
touch it or go near it — and there seemed to be
positively no means of getting it to Waterloo.
Moreover, the time appointed was already long
overpast, and it was near seven.

As he stood so, distractedly staring at the lights
in the fog, a slow footstep approached, and a tall
policeman came suddenly upon him out of the
gloom, looking into his face as he passed — look-
ing, as it seemed to Reginald's uneasy perceptions,
with an eye of inquiry and deep suspicion.
Fortunately, the man saw nothing of the box
lying close under the parapet, and vanished as

321 Y

GREEN GINGER

suddenly as he had appeared, leaving Reginald in
an agony of fear. What if the policeman had
seen the box, and had asked questions ? How
account for his possession of the corpse of an
unknown foreigner ? Plainly something must be
done, and at once.

His first impulse, as soon as the policeman was
gone, was to take to his heels, simply. But then
he remembered the river, so close to hand. The
plain object of Lucia and her brother must be to
dispose of the body, somehow ; and possibly by
this time they had fled, alarmed at his non-arrival.
In any case there was no visible means of bringing
them the box, and he must act on his own
account, before that policeman returned on his
beat. He took one stealthy glance about him,
raised an end of the box against the parapet, and
with a great effort lifted the other end and pushed
the thing forward till it balanced on the coping.
Then with a final desperate shove he sent it
tumbling into the black abyss before him, and ran
his hardest.

He soon found it needful to check his pace,
however, and narrowly averted a collision with a
tree as it was. He found that he had taken the
direction along the Embankment, away from
Blackfriars. That being so he must go over
Waterloo Bridge to inform Lucia of the fate of

322

THE DRINKWATER ROMANCE

the box, if she were still there. As he went he
grew calmer, and presently saw, by aid of a lamp,
that it was five minutes past seven. He crossed
the road warily at the best-lighted place he
could find, and made his best pace to keep his
appointment.

That dreary tramp seemed a week of groping
hours, and he found himself doubting his watch
when it indicated, in the light of the public-house
at the corner of York Road, that he was little
more than an hour late. He hastened on, and
was barely emerging from the blackness beneath
the railway-bridge when his arm was seized above
the elbow, and Lucia stood before him.

" Where is it ? The box ? " she demanded.

" It's all right — I've — I've got rid of it ; I "

" Got rid of it ? What d'you mean ? " Sur-
prise, alarm, and sharp suspicion were harsh in
her voice.

" Pitched it into the river. That was all I
could do, you see, with "

" Pitched it into the river ? " Her voice rose
to a sort of hushed scream.

" Yes. The cab broke down, and I had to get
rid of the corpse somehow, and so — and so "

" Corpse ? What corpse ? "

" In the box — the short man ; the remains.
It had to be got rid "

323

GREEN GINGER

She snatched at his arm again and shook it.
" Do you mean to tell me," she hissed in his face,
" that you've thrown that box into the river ? "

" Yes, certainly ! "

What followed Reginald will always find it
difficult to describe, even if he should ever wish
to remember it, which is doubtful. He was
aware of a sudden torrent of a language which he
was sure was not Portuguese, since he had heard
it frequently at the Islington Cattle Market.
Then something hard of Lucia's — he could
scarcely believe it was her fist — took him sud-
denly on the left ear, and the lady herself, her
skirts snatched up in her hands, vanished into the
fog at a bolt, leaving him dumb and gasping, as
well as a little deaf — on the left side.

THAT evening in his rooms, amazed and be-
wildered, Reginald Drinkwater pulled once again
from his pocket the note of instructions he
had received at Pentonville. The thing was
most hastily scribbled, as though it were all one
sentence ; most of the words ran on without a
break till they reached the end of the line, and yet
the meaning seemed quite clear. The punctuation
he had supplied himself, and now he could see

324

THE DRINKWATER ROMANCE

no better arrangement. " We must remove
remains in box." That was plain enough ;
certainly plain enough. And then, suddenly, as
by a flash of inspiration, he saw the thing in quite
a different reading. The word " caused " ended
the first line, and <c troublesome thing " began the
second. But hereabout the words were all joined,
and if only the " some " were tacked on to
<c thing " instead of " trouble " — and there was
no reason why it should not be — the whole
meaning was changed. u Difficulty with small
man caused trouble," it would read, and then,
" something we must remove remains in box."
Something we must remove remains in box !

Mouth and eyes and fingers all opened to-
gether, and the paper fell between his knees as
this amazing explanation presented itself. Then
there was no body ! No one was killed ! He
had only been sent to Pentonville because " some-
thing we must remove remains in box " ! Great
heavens ! what had he flung into the river ?

He picked the paper up and read it once more,
and the new reading stared at him plainer than
ever. What had he done ? He could under-
stand now, dimly, that Lucia probably had
reasons for her amazement and anger. But then
that language — worse, that punch ! What did it
all mean ?

325

GREEN GINGER

He gasped and wondered for two days, and
then Buss, K.C., returned from his little holiday.
Reginald's attention was attracted to his neigh-
bour by a sudden howl and a series of appalling
bellows, accompanied by frantic rushings to and
fro, hangings of doors and shoutings on stairs.
Then, after an interval, Reginald, still curious,
perceived the head of an inspector of police at
the nearest open window of Buss, K.C. And
after another interval that same inspector presented
himself at the rooms of Mr. Reginald Drinkwater.
Mr. Buss's rooms had been entered and
robbed during his absence from town, and the
entry had been effected, in the judgment of the
police, through the window in the corner, by some
person crossing from Mr. Drinkwater's window.
Of course the inspector didn't wish to say or do
anything unpleasant, and no doubt investigations
would put things in a different light ; but for the
present !

And so it came about that the Drinkwater
romance was first poured into the unenthusiastic
ears of the police ; and that some of the most
valuable of the Buss silver was dragged and dived
for in the Thames near Blackfriars under the
joint direction of the police and Mr. Drinkwater
himself.

" Yes," observed the inspector, some days after
326

THE DRINKWATER ROMANCE

his first visit, when Mr. Drinkwater's bona fides
had been quite established — "yes, sir, it's just
their sort o' job. Lucia da Silva she called
herself this time, did she ? It's a very pretty
name. She's had a lot of 'em at one time or
another, but I never heard that before. She's
been Spanish an' she's been Italian an' she's been
Greek — this Portuguese dodge is fresh ; nothing
like being up-to-date, I suppose. Bit of a sheeny,
really, I believe. Yes. It's she's the smart one ;
he's got ideas, but he funks the work. You see
she did it all in this job. Came to try and fit
keys to your door when you were out — that was
when you surprised her. Her fright was real
enough, of course, when you turned up, but she
was smart enough to turn it to her own account.
You see, Mr. Buss's doors would be a harder job
than yours — he's had patent locks put on 'em,
inside and out, an' no doubt they knew it.

" Wonderful quick she was with her yarn,
wasn't she ? She's a topper. Knew how to
adapt it, too, you see. It was when she got you
safe off in the Cafe Royal they did it. Did it
together, with the keys they'd made from the
waxes she got from your laundress's bunch when
she came the day before, and you were out.
These women shouldn't leave keys about like
that, though they always do. Yes, she did it

327

GREEN GINGER

smart all through — I always admired that gal.
Not least smart was getting you to bring the stuff
along after they'd left their lodgings. I think I
know why that was. It was him funking it
again — he's always a funk, fortunately, in these
jobs. Thought we'd got an eye on the house,
which we hadn't, because it's quite a respectable
place, and we'd lost sight of him lately. But see
the neatness of it, getting you to carry the stuff.
If we had been watching the house, or if you'd
been stopped on the way, you V have been in the
soup, not them. Found with the goods on you,
you see, sir, and the burglary done from your
rooms ! Eh ? Oh, very neat. But there —
I've got one joke against her, when I find her ;
that note that queered the game. That is
rich. * Remains,' eh ? * Remains in box ! ' We
must explain that to her, when we get her !
* Remains,' eh ? Ha ! ha ! "

" Ha ! ha ! " repeated Reginald — a sickly echo.
4t Yes, quite a joke — against her ! "

cJ by Heiztlt, H'atstm &• I'i*ty, LJ., London atid Aylcsbury.

34, 35 6 36, Paternoster Row,

London, February, 1909.

Messrs. Hutchinson & Co.'s

Preliminary
Announcements

For the Spring of 1909

Mr. Pope

A Chronicle of his Life
and Work

By GEORGE PASTON

Author of " Sidelights on the Georgian Period," etc.

In two volumes, demy 8vo, with photogravures and other
illustrations, 245. net

This book is based on the correspondence of the poet, published
and unpublished, on the autobiographical passages in his poems,
and on the allusions to him in contemporary letters and pamphlets,
whether complimentary or the reverse. His friendships and his
quarrels are fully dealt with, while a summary is given of his
principal works, with illustrative extracts. The author has
discovered a considerable number of unpublished letters, some of
which are given in full, while the most interesting passages are
quoted from others. There will be about 24 illustrations, including
portraits of the poet and many of his friends. Alexander Pope was
perhaps the most celebrated literary man of his time, and George
Paston has earned a reputation for model eighteenth-century
biographies. It is therefore confidently expected that this new work
will prove eminently successful.

Richard Jefferies

His Life and Work

By EDWARD THOMAS

Author of " The Heart of England," etc.

In demy Svo, cloth gilt and gilt top, ios. 6d. net

With photogravure portrait and other Illustrations

Although the readers of Richard Jefferies' books are steadily on
the increase, with the exception perhaps of the memoir issued
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work of Richard Jefferies for many years, and has, in the course of
his researches, obtained some important new information respecting
the life of his subject ; he also supplies a full critical study of
Jefferies' books.

The Standard
Concert Guide

A Handbook of the Standard Symphonies, Oratorios, Cantatas,
and Symphonic Poems for the Concert Goer, with a useful
List of the Principal English Musical Organisations

By GEORGE P. UPTON

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In small crown Svo, cloth gilt and gilt top, 55. net
With 68 portrait*

The author presents a compact and handy concert guide
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King's Favourite

By PHILIP GIBBS

Author of " The Romance of George Villiers.
First Duke of Buckingham."

In demy 8vo, cloth gilt and gilt top, i6s. net
With photogravure plate and other Illustrations

In the reigns of the Stuart kings, when English life
was full of romance, there is no more romantic story than
the rise and fall of Robert Carr, Earl of Somerset. And
in the heart of it there is a passionate drama of love, as
full of human interest as any tale told by the great
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It has never been fully told until now : yet in the
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A story of passion and of cold-blooded murder, it yet
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The Life of
Frederick the Great

By THOMAS CARLYLE

Abridged and Edited by EDGAR SANDERSON, M.A.

(Sometime Scholar of Clare College, Cambridge.)

Author of "The History of the World from the Earliest Historical Time,"

" History of the British Empire,'' ' The British Empire in the

Nineteenth Century." "Outlines of the World's History."

etc.

With an Introduction by ROGER INGPEN

In crown 8vo, cloth gilt and gilt top, 55. net
With portrait and map

Carlyle's Life of Frederick the Great has been described by a
wag as a " great book," which it certainly is in more ways than
one. It is undoubtedly the most remarkable of Carlyle's achieve-
ments, and its dimensions alone entitle it to a place among the
greatest monuments of literary industry. But for this very
reason the book is practically sealed to all save those who enjoy
ample leisure.

Mr. Sanderson has accomplished the great, one might almost
say gigantic feat of compressing the five huge royal octavo
tomes of Carlyle into a single volume. His chief task has been
to clear away the vast forest of extraneous matter that sur-
rounded Frederick — the early history of Germany, contemporary
events, and numerous appendices and original documents — and
to give us a portrait in Carlyle's own picturesque words of the
Soldier-king to whom Germany owes its present power and
prosperity, and who bequeathed to his country such a fine
example of personal courage and political wisdom.

Louis XVI and
Marie Antoinette

By Lieut. -Col. ANDREW C. P. HAGGARD, D.S.O.

Author of " Sidelights on the Court of France," etc.

In two volumes, demy 8vo, cloth gilt and gilt top, with
photogravure plates and other illustrations, 243. net

Colonel Haggard's new book is devoted to the history of
Louis XVI and his Queen, Marie Antoinette. The author describes
their careers from the time of marriage when little more than
children, until their deaths on the scaffold, within nine months of
each other, omitting nothing of interest that in any way affected the
unfortunate King and Queen. The celebrated affair of the diamond
necklace (an amazing story that always bears re-telling) is related
in detail, as also are the subsequent events of the Revolution, the
approach of which was undoubtedly hastened by the scandals of
this cause calibre. Colonel Haggard does not omit references to
the various love affairs with which Marie Antoinette has, rightly or
wrongly, been credited.

Richard Savage

A Mystery in Biography

By STANLEY V. MAKOWER

Author of " Perdita," "The Mirror of Music," etc., etc-

In one volume, demy 8vo, cloth gilt and gilt top, with
photogravure and other illustrations, i6s. net

This book reflects in the extraordinary life of Richard Savage,
poet and pamphleteer, of the first half of the eighteenth century,
the eternal stnuggle between noble aims and commercial necessity.
It describes minutely not only the dramatic episodes, but also the
inner aspirations, the triumphs and the failures, the heights and the
depths, reached by a character which has never ceased to awaken
curiosity and compassion since it inspired Dr. Johnson with the
most widely significant of all his studies in contemporary
personalities.

A NEW AND POPULAR EDITION OF

DR. MAX LENZS
MOST IMPORTANT WORK

Napoleon

Translated from the German by FREDERIC WHYTE

WITH AN INTRODUCTION
And with 50 full page Illustration* and portrait*

In small demy 8vo, cloth gilt and gilt top, 6s. net

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS

" Dr. Lenz writes of Napoleon with greater comprehension than any other
biographer whose work we can recall. To this scholarly German student, who has
mastered every detail in the history of the period in which the Corsican played his
part. Napoleon is not a mere adventurer, he is a man of destiny. Dr. Lenz is too
discriminating to fall into the common error of hero worship. Napoleon himsejf is
the subject of analysis. It is of vivid interest to follow Dr. Lenz in his explanations
of the forces which drove Napoleon from one great military adventure to another,
and to observe how kings, emperors and statesmen plotted against him. Dr. Lenz
may be warmly congratulated on producing a book which has the charm of freshness
though its theme is well worn. The translation is admirable and the portraits.and
illustrations have been selected with much care and discrimination."— Pall Mall
Oatette.

This is one of the most masterly studies of Napoleon which have appeared in
English. Probably it is the very best short book upon its subject which we have in
this country. Written by a German, translated by an Englishman with all the
spontaneous force of an original author, it gives a vivid, complete and yet
discriminating view of a man whose commentators have hitherto been passionately
hostile or passionately adulatory and consequently obscure. In this remarkable book
Dr. Lenz is ruthless but fair, sorrowful but just."— Tribune.

" A narrative of facts concisely stated and carefully compressed. The work is
highly reliable, well arranged, and complete, dealing with every side of the life and
work of Napoleon ; and the general view taken is that which is coming to be accepted
among historians of any importance."— Outlook.

" One of the fairest and most suitable general introductions to the Napoleonic
literature which has recently appeared. It is shorter and fairer than Dr. Rose's
important work, and it is also more generally trustworthy than Dr. Kielland's recent
eulogy."— Daily Newt.

" Translated by a master in the an of translation, a life of Napoleon from his
birth to the end, which includes every phase of the marvellous career except the
purely personal, of which we know enough from contemporary and subsequent
memoirs. We have a thoroughly capable and comprehensive biography of handy
size and length, which will serve as an excellent introduction to the study of
Napoleon's life and times. The author is wonderfully impartial, has a remarkable
power of condensation, the summing up of Napoleon's work is terse, just and
eloquent. We do not remember a better book than this considering its length and its
scope, and the fact that it includes the Emperor's whole career. A last word of
praise must be given to the excellent translation into live and good English."— Diiily
Telegraph.

The Romance of a
Great Career

The Story of the Life of Sir Robert Hart

Told by his Niece
JULIET BREDIN

In crown 8vo, cloth gilt and gilt top,
6s. net

With a photogravure plate and thirty-two other illustrations of
exceptional Interest.

Perhaps there is no one living who has been so long in the public
eye and yet of whose personality so little is known as Sir Robert
Hart. He has spent much the larger part of a long life in China
where he held a unique position which gave him unusual opportunities
and power to act for good or ill on most momentous occasions ;
indeed, it might be said that for over half a century he has been
more or less closely concerned with every great event that has
happened in that most interesting country. There must be many
thousands of Englishmen and Englishwomen who are curious to
know the life story of this remarkable man, who never seems to have
revealed himself, and this record written by one who has had every
opportunity of studying him and his work will therefore be eagerly
desired. It is not too much to say that there is enough material
in the book for a volume double its size, but dealing as it does
with essentials only, there is not a page that will not be read with
the greatest interest.

The American Egypt

By CHANNING ARNOLD and
FREDERICK J. FROST

In one handsome demy 8vo volume, cloth gilt and gilt top,
16*. net

With numerous Illustration*

This volume, unique in being the first book written by
Englishmen on the country, describes in graphic and picturesque
style a tour made by the authors in Yucatan, the easterninost
portion of the Republic of Mexico. Perhaps the greatest problem
remaining for archaeology to solve is the origin of the remarkable
building civilization found existing in Central America at the
Conquest. In their description of Yucatan, where this civilization
reached its high-water mark, the authors review the whole problem
and venture on a novel and ingenious solution. The book, which is
freely illustrated, gives a vivid picture of Yucatan, its peoples and
scenery. On its eastern coast a ruthless war of extermination is
being waged by Mexico against the Indians. The authors visited
this district, and draw a terrible picture of the inhumanity of the
campaign.

Compiled by A. C. R. CARTER

The Year's Art, 1909

Thirtieth Year of Issue

A concise Epitome of all matters relating to the Arts of Painting,
Sculpture. Engraving, and Architecture, and to Schools of Design
•which have occurred during the year 1908, together with infor-
mation reapecting the events of the year 1909

In crown 8vo, cloth, 35. 6d. net
550 pages of letterpress, with full-page illustrations

" Absolutely indispensable to all who are interested in art.
It is, in fact, the artist's Whitaker." — Tribune.

New 6s. Novels

Each in crown 8vo, cloth gilt

Kingsmead

By THE BARONESS VON HUTTEN

Author of " Pam," "The Halo." etc.

"Kingsmead" tells the story of a young man's first love.
Tommy, Earl of Kingsmead, will be remembered as the little
brother of Brigit, the heroine of "The Halo," and in " Kingsmead "
he has reached the age of three-and-twenty — a delightful, dreamy,
honest hearted boy, trying to play Providence to a friend, blundering
and struggling in a childish, manly, delightful way. The book
shows a marked contrast to "The Halo," inasmuch as it is imbued
with a spirit of joy, and those who have wondered what happened
to the unhappy heroine of " The Halo " will find the answer here,
together with some further glimpses of our old friend Pam, her
Duchess, and Lensky, Pam's much-discussed husband. Those who
like sentiment and tenderness in a novel will like " Kingsmead,"
and it is safe to say that everyone will love the quaint little hero of
the book.

The Royal End

By HENRY HARLAND

Author of "The Cardinal's Snuff-Box," "My Lady Paramount,"
" My Friend Prospero," etc.

"The Royal End'' is the last and only remaining unpublished
novel of the late Mr. Henry Harland. Fastidious writer that he
was, the present story is equal, if not superior, in merit to his best
work. The hero and heroine of this tale are of the regular Harland
types, while his charming gift of portraying character, his delicate
irony, and his finished style, whether it is employed in description
or dialogue, are all present in a delightful Italian and New England
setting.

New 6s. Novels

As it Happened

By ASHTON HILLIERS

Author of " Memoirs of a Person of Quality," etc.

A story of action, dealing with a period (1778-9) rarely
trespassed upon by the novelist. England, inarticulately
resenting the misrule of King George the Deplorable, is blunder-
ing from defeats to surrenders, yet saving what may be saved
by the staunchness of unrecognised heroes, clean-handed, high-
hearted— men who saw duty and went and did it, unpretentious
saviours of society ; saving or sacrificing themselves in the
process. There is love in the piece, and war, as through intrigue
and cannon-smoke we follow the fortunes of an English girl.

A Simple Savage

By G. B. BURQIN

Author of "The Shutters of Silence," " Peggy the Pilgrim," ate.

There is rather a novel and fantastic note in Mr. G. B.
Burgin's new story, " A Simple Savage." The Spirit of the
Air and the Spirit of the Stars, looking down upon London, are
appalled by the want of sincerity in men and women. They
throw a feather to earth, letting it fall where it will. The
feather has the power of making the woman on whom it falls
able to see all that the man she loves is doing. As may readily
be imagined, this novel idea leads to some strange com-
plications in Mr. Burgin's virile and interesting story.

New 6s. Novels

The Three Brothers

By EDEN PHILLPOTTS

Author of "The Mother," "The Whirlwind," etc.

In Mr. Eden Phillpotts's new story he once more writes of
Devonshire, and draws his characters and life from Dartmoor.
Although the setting may be the same, his stories (as in the present
case) are always fresh and original, and full of distinction. Many
characters are introduced into a very full book, which principally
concerns itself with the careers of three brothers and their
families. There is incident in plenty, with humour and tragedy,
while numerous love affairs are involved.

Our Adversary

By M. E. BRADDON

Author of "Lady Audley's Secret," "The Rose of Life,"
" In High Places," etc.

This important book by such an old favourite as Miss Braddon
is sure of a big reception. Her readers will find it up to the level
of her best work, and a wonderful achievement for one who has been
before the public so long. The novel is of full length but the
reader's interest is sustained throughout.

New 6s. Novels

The Mystery of
The Myrtles

By EDGAR JEPSON

Author of " Lady Nogft, Peeress." " Lady Nous Intervenes." etc.

In "The Mystery of the Myrtles," Sir George Vine,
a young English baronet, tells a thrilling story of mystery
and horror. After five years of big game hunting in wild
lands he returns to his home, a great house in a London
suburb, to find that The Myrtles, the house next it, is
acquiring an evil and uncanny reputation. This is
damaging to his own property and he sets himself to clear
up the mystery. The atmosphere of the garden of The
Myrtles seems charged with a paralysing and inexplicable
oppression of menace and horror. He discovers a con-
nection between this atmosphere and the disappearance
of some young men prominent in London society, and
arrives at the conclusion that the garden of The Myrtles
is the scene of dreadful rites and horrible crimes. But
he has fallen in love with Crystal Warrender, the daughter
of the owner of the house, and arch-priest of the rites.
He resolves, however, to break up the gang of devil-
worshippers and punish the crimes they have committed.
His path to discovery, prevention, and vengeance lies
through nerve-racking horror and peril. The story is
full of thrills, genuine thrills. But the thrilling horror
is continually relieved by the charm of a delightful love
story.

New 6s. Novels

A Young Man Married

By SYDNEY C. GRIER

Author of "The Warden of the Marches," "The Power of the Key»," eto.

The story deals with the later stages of the Peninsular War,
from the fall of Badajoz to the battle of Vitoria. It is written in
the form of a series of episodes in the married life of a young
British officer, Arthur Cinnamond, and his Spanish bride. The
violent efforts of her family to separate the pair are crowned with
success in the course of the retreat from Madrid, but after many
trials Doiia Rosita and her husband are eventually reunited. The
story will appeal to both men and women and must add to the
Author's reputation, well established as it is.

Where Billows Roll

By ALLEN RAINE

Author of "A Welsh Singer," "Torn Sails." etc.

The lamented death of so popular a writer as Allen Raine can
but result in a greatly increased interest being shown in such work
as she left unpublished. The present is a full-length novel — a sweet
and romantic story with the scenes in Wales, and with a strong love
interest and a touch of mysticism. There are dramatic situations,
a tangle to unravel, for love does not run smoothly, and many
characters, of whom some will endear themselves to the reader, and
with it all is a story in which the reader will be absorbed.

New 6s. Novels

The Straw

By R. RAMSAY

Author of "The Key of the Door." etc.

The scene of this story is laid in Leicestershire, in
the hunting countries of the Belvoir and the Quorn ; and
the action takes place amidst the music of hounds and
among hunting people. The hero, Gay, is putting up a
good fight against hard times, and scouts an unworthy
proposal that he should patch his fortunes by marrying
for money. But later, when on a mad expedition with
two or three other hunting-men, a practical joke that
simulates a midnight burglary in the house of a sporting
neighbour, he finds a girl who, mistaking him for a man in
real desperation, forgets her terror in compassion, and
offers him her jewels. He falls in love with her, but
discovers too late that she is the unknown heiress whose
acquaintance he had refused to make, and that she had
been pursuaded to promise to give herself and her riches
to save a ruined scamp. From this beginning the story
is carried on, through scenes of comedy running into
tragedy to its dramatic conclusion. There is plenty of
incident, a freshness in the handling and characters at
once typical and individual, and the author writes as from
first-hand knowledge. Of the author's last novel, " The
Key of the Door," Country Life said : — " One of the most
humorous and lively books that have appeared this year:
dialogue witty and natural ; character drawing acute ;
management of situations adroit in the extreme; it
contains some fine descriptions of hunting and a vivid
picture of county society, while the whole book is written
with vivacity and dash."

New 6a. Novels

The House called
Hurrish

By "RITA"

Author of "Peg the Rake," "Sauls," "The Sinner," etc.

This is a long and important new novel, in which, like
" Peg the Rake," and others of her successful books,
" Rita" deals with the fortunes of an Irish family. The
story is something weird and thrilling and of absorbing
interest. It is undoubtedly one of the writer's best efforts,
and more than maintains her reputation as a writer of
excellent fiction.

Green Ginger

By ARTHUR MORRISON

Author of "Tales of Mean Streets," "The Chronicles of Martin Hewitt," etc.

This is a volume of stories by a famous writer, who««
short stories have earned for him a great reputation.
Humour has been a conspicuous feature of much of his
work (his farce, "That Brute Simmons," founded on a story
in his first volume, is perhaps the most successful one-act
play for many years), but the fact has not always been
sufficiently recognised. In this volume none but humorous
stories are included, and they range from the simply
straightforwardly humorous to the broadly farcical, but
all are marked by the cleverness one expects from this
writer. It is likely to prove one of hig most popular
books.

New 6s. Novels

Other Things
than Love

By "HANDASYDE"

Author of " For the Week End," " The Four Gardens." etc.

Lord George Bentinck is evidently the prototype of the central
character in this book, but whereas the one gave up his Turf career
to devote himself to a closer study of the Corn Laws, the other
sacrifices all his racing ambition to Tariff Reform. Incidentally,
the power of the modern plutocrat is shown in his usurpation of all
the old aristocratic standards. The name of the book, it may be
added — "Other Things than Love" — is in part a paradox, as the
inference to be drawn is that there are no " other things ! "

The Bargain

By THEODORA WILSON-WILSON

Author of " Bess of Hardendale." "Langbarrow Hall," etc.

A story of love. " ' On the oath of a gentleman, Ara de Montfort,
I would be good to you always.' John Tredethv dropped her hand
suddenly. She stood quite still, looking at her hand as though
something strange had happened to it." Ara, not seventeen,
romantic and proudly sensitive, had broken from her boarding
school, to discover her idealized father, lately returned from India,
dying in a wayside inn. Ara understood one thing by "The Bargain."
Tredethy, an Indian Judge, another. The scenes are laid in
Westmorland, London and Cornwall, and Ara finds in "Bess of
Hardendale," a true friend.

New 6s. Novels

The Conversion of
Con Cregan

and Other Stories

A Volume of Stories of a Humorous and Sporting
character

By DOROTHEA CONYERS

Author of "The Strayings of Sandy," of which an 8th Edition is now at press

Mrs. Conyers has earned for herself such a reputation by
her humorous sporting novels that these stones from her pen
will be welcomed. They have been specially selected by her
from the many she has written, and with a view of making a
complete series and harmonious volume. Much of her best
work has been put into them.

St. Martin's Summer

By RAFAEL SABATINI

Author of "The Trampling of the Lilies," "The Shame of Motley," etc.

Mr. Sabatini's new romance is, as the title will suggest to
the imaginative, the story of a man to whom the zests of
youth come late in life. The action takes place in Dauphiny,
in the early part of the seventeenth century, and the author has
set out to portray a domestic tragi-comedy of those days rather
than of a drama of historical bearing. But the domesticity,
after all, is that of a chateau in a remote province where the
feudal system was still excessively alive, and the narrative is
quick with the tramp of armed men, the turbulence of strife,
and the throbbing of tempestuous passions. For swiftness,
vigour and graphic power, no less than for the intensity of the
purely human interest, no earlier book of Mr. Sabatini's has
approached the standard of " St. Martin's Summer." •

New 6s. Novels

A Flight from
Siberia

By WACLAW SIEROSZEWSKI
A RemarkabU Polish Novel

The publisher* have pleasure in presenting this novel,
which has had extraordinary success in Russia. The
writer's work is being compared with that of Sienkiewicr,
and seems likely to be quite as popular. He is being as
largely read in Germany as in Russia. " A Flight from
Siberia " is a fine piece of literature, and its Engliih
rendering is a brilliant piece of work. The story is simply
of prolonged preparations for escape by a little band of
the banished, including a woman, their unsuccessful first
efforts, then their big plunge, ending in disaster, when,
after great risks and hardships, they felt safe and free.
It is, however, the spirit of the book which counts, and
every one who takes it up will be struck by the wonderful
way in which the writer realises his characters and their
life and surroundings. It is a fascinating book which
should be widely read. The author has written some very
gruesome stories, but this is not to be counted among them,
although there is real pathos in it.

New 6s. Novels

A False Position

By Mrs. BAILLIE REYNOLDS

Author *f "Th* Man who Won," "A Dull Girl'i Destiny," etc.

Admirers of Mrs. Baillie Reynolds's work will be interested
to know that this story was one of her earliest efforts. It will,
we think, be found to contain the germ of what she has since
made her theory of life — the paramount importance of truth and
honour, and the ultimate triumph of good. The false position
is that of a young girl who, strong in the belief that she, having
loved in vain, has left life's illusions behind her, consents to go
through the form of marriage with a man who requires a house-
keeper. On the very threshold of her new life a totally
unexpected turn of circumstances induces her to tell a falsehood
to this man. The consequences of this " foolish, timorous
untruth " are shown in the story. With the exception of verbal
corrections, and the elimination of some " padding," the story is
now given in its original form.

By ELIZABETH BANKS

Author of " The Autobiography of * Newspaper Girl," et«.

This is a bright, light, readable novel by a writer whose book,
" The Autobiography of a Newspaper Girl," was a pronounced
success. This new volume has snap and a piquant charm.
Margaret, the heroine, is beautiful, very smart, original, and
ambitious. She is engaged to Sam Blackmore, whom a lawyer
tries to ruin. Margaret is known as a light comedy writer and
dramatist, but has a second personality as Frances Farrington,
a serious writer — hence the mystery. There are complications :
fate plays into her hands, and the wind-up is a sensational Court
of Justice farce, in which Margaret, arraigned by the lawyer for
the murder of Frances Farrington, manages to make things hum
and comes out triumphant.

New 6s. Novels

A New Novel

By BERYL FABER

AND

COSMO HAMILTON

Author of "Adam's Clay," "The Blindness of Virtue," etc.

This story centres itself in one day in the lives of four intimate
friends, two married couples. It is an amusing comedy, in which to
give her husband a lesson Viola, one of the two women who are
both really in love with their husbands, begins a flirtation with
Peg's husband, and Peg retaliates by taking up the running with
the other man. A game of cross-purposes follows, each couple
going one better than the other, until a climax is reached by Peg
taking quite an extreme measure after both husbands have had a
very bad time.

The Alternative

By A. F. SLADE

Author of A Wayside Weed," "Mary Neville," etc.

A marriage is brought about between Keith and Kate by an
intriguing mother, and Kate is unhappy. Finding her lover Lyell ill
she determines to nurse him. The husband finds her, and to free
herself from her yoke Kate falsely accuses herself of an intimacy
with Lyell. Her husband refuses to believe her, and she goes back
to endure. A child is born, and there is a woman in the background
whose son is Keith's. Kate does her best, but there is a big duel
between husband and wife. With such a situation it need hardly be
said that this story is an uncommon one. It will make a special
appeal to feminin* readers, and is in every way worthy to rank with
the author's very remarkable novel, "A Wayside Weed."

New 6s. Novels

The Doctor Wife

By COLLETTE YVER
Translated by ANNA, COMTESSE DE BREMONT

This is a translation of a novel very popular in France under
the title of " Princesses de Science." It tells the story of a young
French doctor who, falling in love with a medical student, a gifted
and beautiful woman with a brilliant medical future, wishes her to
become the devoted wife of the hearth ; but she loves her work,
and they part. Fernand, however, gives in. They marry, and a
child is born, only to die soon, and Therese resumes her old life.
There is an ever-growing estrangement, and Fernand is consoled by
the devoted friendship of another woman ; but the story closes on
a note of hope. There are other women doctors in the story,
which deals with a question of the hour and is full of human interest.
It also gives us an instructive picture of certain phases of Parisian
life to-day.

A Fetish of Truth

By EILEEN FITZGERALD

Author of "The Heart of a Butterfly," etc.

Stephen Allardyce, a man of strong character but of humble
parentage, goes to seek fortune in America, where he meets a man
of his own name — a wastrel of good birth, who holds an intro-
duction to a big American firm. Stephen buys this of him and
introduces himself. He becomes successful, and charges himself
with the welfare of the wastrel's children left in England. He goes
home a millionaire, and questions arise as to his relationship to the
children. He enters Society and engages himself to a lady of birth.
But troubles arise, and he ultimately returns to America ; but the
ending is a happy one. The story is dramatic, there is much
worldly wisdom in it, and the characters are clear-cut studies. The
many readers of the author's earlier book, " The Heart of a.
Butterfly," will feel assured that the Society life is well done, and
it may be said that this story will be found equally pleasing.

THE MOST FASCINATING AUTO-
BIOGRAPHY FOR MANY YEARS

And one of the most popular book* of the moment

The Story of My Life

By ELLEN TERRY

In one handsome dtmy Svo volume, cloth gilt, 6s. net
WITH 4 PHOTOGRAVURE PLATES AND 7O OTHER ILLUSTRATION*

A SUPERB WORK AT A POPULAR PRICE

15,000 copies of the English Edition
alone have already been printed

A SPECIAL EDITION, limited to 1.OOO ooplM, In foolscap 4to (8} *6i' ),

whits binding, with extra photogravure plates and additional

Illustration*. £i is. net for coplet signed by the

Author, limited In number to 250;

unsigned i6s. net

ONLY A FEW OF THE SIGNED COPIES REMAIN UNSOLD

OPINIONS OP THE PRKS5

" Surprisingly good : the book is for the most part delightfully written : good
Stories abound ; unaffected, unpretentious, Miss Terry's story of her life is one of
the happiest efforts in autobiography issued for many a long day." — Standard-

" Miss Terry's countless lovers will treasure her book as a fresh expression of
the most winning and delightful personality that appeared on the English stage
during fhe Nineteenth Century. It has none of the magnificent postures of the
Bernhardt memoirs, but it it a hundred times richer in humanity and charm." —
Daily Neu-t.

" We were surprised to find Miss Terry the author of so good and so delightful
shook as this frank, impulsive, generous characteristic 'story of her life.' The
book is both delightful to read and a very valuable document."— Time*.

" There is a charm about these memoirs which is not easily defined except in
terms of the author's own personality. Like Ellen Terry herself, they are full of
high spirits and sensibility. They reveal a vitality of exceptional exuberance, a
temper that through sixty years has remained sunny and unspoilt, a sense of humour,
constantly, if almost unconsciously in exercise, and a joy in living which no
experience of sadness, no warning of time has been able to subdue. Candid almost
to the point of indiscretion, they have the piquancy of good conversation— of a
woman's conversation, apt in its very inconsequence, intimate in its reserves,
strangely shrewd even in its too expansive moments. Throughout the book we seem
to be listening to private talk of the actress."— Athtructtm.

" Those playgoers who are glad to have owned her swa\ in the past will find
renewed delight in this narrative. For Ellen Terry has imparted to her book much
of the enchantment and the grace and the charm which have distinguished her ever
since she saw the first sunset out of that lonely attic window in early childhood.
To the playgoer, too, it ii a book that will bring back a thousand pleasant memories."
Daily Mail.

"This book is ridiculously cheap. We do not mean only that it contains
sufficient matter, literary and photographic, for two volumes at 24s. We intend to
suggest that it contains far more than six shillingswortb of delightful stories."—
Evening Standard

The following Important WORKS OF FICTION will be published
before the end of the year. Each in oloth gilt, 6s.

The Necromancers

By ROBERT HUGH BENSON .

Author of "The Conventionalists." "The Light Invisible," •to.

This novel will be of full-length, and will it is hoped be ready
for the Spring.

Seymour Charlton

By W. B. MAXWELL

Author of "The Guarded Flame," "Vivien," «tc.

Mr. Maxwell in this story traces the mental development of
a man who, after trifling with life for many years, emancipates
himself from frivolity and wins happiness by an honest, steadfast
love. In his progress towards higher things he is assailed by
temptations, and does not always succeed in resisting them. The
book is a long one, dealing with \aried social worlds. There are
numerous principal characters, and innumerable types of modern
existence are introduced to the reader's consideration.

Romance at Random

By H. B. MARRIOTT-WATSON

Author of "A Midsummer Day's Dream," "The Web of the Spider," etc.

Describing the adventures of a young nobleman about Town
in the author's happiest vein.

SOME NOTABLE 6s. NOVELS

NOW IN GREAT DEMAND

The Elusive Pimpernel

By THE BARONESS ORCZY

Author of " The Scarlet Pimpernel," " Beau Brocade," etc.

A 6th targe Edition if noio ready.

" We must congratulate the Baroness Orczy on having in the ' Elusive
Pimpernel ' managed to sustain the interest of those who had been raised to a fever
pitch of excitement by the previous adventures of the resourceful hero."— Murnintt
Pott.

A Spirit in Prison

By ROBERT HICHENS

Author of " The Garden of Allah." " The Call of the Blood," etc.

2nd Edition

" As one reads the work every page seems to throb with reality. There is fine,
even brilliant, workmanship in this book."— Morning Post.

The Conventionalists

By ROBERT HUGH BENSON

Author of "The Light Invisible," "The Sentimentalists," etc.

3rd Edition

" It is a fine book and a true book. It has sincerity, and a quite extraordinary
gift for vivifying superficialities. It should certainly be a novel of the year."—
Standard.

Lady Noggs Intervenes

By EDGAR JEPSON

Author of " Lady Noggs, Peeress."

2nd Edition

" There are few novels which make the reader ask for more, but this is one of
them."— Truth.

SOME NOTABLE 6s. NOVELS

NOW IN GREAT DEMAND

Aunt Jane and
Uncle James

By DOROTHEA CONYERS

Author of "The Strayings of Sandy," now in its 8th Edition.

2nd Edition

" Mrs. Conyers certainly manages to keep her readers alive through another racy
Irish story. The characters are amusing and clever, full of perception and that kind
of humour in which the author has proved herself an adept. The plot is original,
the subtlety of the humour and the occasional touches of genuine emotion will
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The Supreme Test

By Mrs. BAILLIE REYNOLDS

Author of " The Man who Won," " A Dull Girl's Destiny," etc,

2nd Edit on

" A story that cannot fail to materially advance her reputation, although her
popularity has made of late quite remarkable strides."— Standard.

The Blindness of
Virtue

By COSMO HAMILTON

Author of "Adam's Clay," etc.

2nd Edition

" Mr. Cosmo Hamilton has written a delightful book. An eminently enjoyable
novel."— Daily Chronicle.

By Mrs. BAILLIE SAUNDERS

Author of " Saints in Society."

2nd Edition

" One of the most clever and entertaining books published this season, a
penetrating and well-considered study ; it has all the elements of a successful novel,
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RECENT BIOGRAPHICAL WORKS

NOW BEING FREELY READ

The Empress Josephine

Napoleon's Enchantress

By PHILIP W. SERGEANT

/» two volumtt, dtmy 8vo, clotk gilt and gilt top. with (shotogj-fvurn and other
illuitraliont, 24s. nit

" His exceedingly entertaining biography of the Empress Josephine, one of the
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by Mr Sergeant's vivid and mpartial pen. There is so much tha interests :n hese
two admirable olumes. They ill be read with interest even by hose who ordinarily
find history dull. Mr. Sergeant is never for a momeir tedious ; he makes us
sympathise with this strange creature. This is a book that will have a long life. It
is one which having been once read will not soon be forgotten."— World.

A Georgian Pageant

By F. FRANKFORT MOORE

1m out vtlttmt, dtmy Ivo, tltth gilt anJ gilt top, with phottgravurt platt and
othtr \lluttrattoni, 1 6«. nit

" Exceedingly interesting, stimulating and illuminating ; his very Interesting and
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characters."— Justin McCarthy in the Daily Chronicle.

" Thic is a delightful book, written with imagination and fancy ; we step back
into the eighteenth century with an ease which is a surprise to ourselves."—
Standard.

" Mr. Moore brings before us a lively picture of the times. He gives us
excellent reading A more interesting book of light history has not come our way
for a long time.''— Daily Mail.

Queen Anne and Her Court

By P. F. WILLIAM RYAN

In two velumil, dtmy Svo, doth gilt and gilt top, with photogravurt plain
and othtr illuttrattom, 24«. net

The Times says •—" Mr. Ryan Is a writer of spirit, wit and culture ; he can be
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paragraph to paragraph. The author does make and keep Queen Anne the central
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Lauzun : Courtier and Adventurer

The Life of a Friend of Louis XIV
By M. F. BANDARS

In two volumtt, dtmy Svo, cloth gilt anil gilt top, u-ith photogravure plattt
and othiriilutirattont, 24*. nit

The Westminster Gazette says :— " Was there among all the striking figures
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like a sprite to-day, a demon to-morrow, and a courtier and charmer all the time, as
Lauzun. Miss Sanders approaches her subject in just the rifiht spirit. She has an
amused and tolerant smile for the hero of her book, and tells the story of his
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interestingly alive and human."

SIR HARRY JOHNSTON'S LATEST BOOK ON AFRICA

George Grenf ell and the Congo

The Life and Work of a Great Traveller

A History and Description of the CONGO INDEPENDENT STATE AND
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of the Native Peoples and their Languages, the Fauna and Flora ; and
similar Notes on THE CAMEROON'S AND THE ISLAND OF FERNANDO
PO, the whole Founded on the Diaries and Researches of the late
Rev. GEORGE GRENFELL, B.M.S., F.R.G.S., on the Records of the
BAPTIST MISSIONARY SOCIETY, and on Additional Information
contributed by the AUTHOR, by the Rev. LAWSON FORFEITT,
Mr. EMILE TORDAY, and others.

In two large volumes, cloth gilt and gilt top, 30s. net

With 496 illustrations, 2 photogravure plates, and
14 maps

The Times says : — " Sir Harry Johnston has undoubtedly added
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Africa of which he is the author. His book is a contribution to
human knowledge as valuable as any he has yet published."

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL ART BOOK OF THE SEASON

A FINE ART EDITION OF GOETHE'S GREAT CLASSIC

FAUST

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A large-paper edition, limited to 250 copies

Specially bound in vellum and gold, with an additional coloured
plate, each copy numbered and signed by the artist, £2 2s. net

The Athencsum says : — " We think the publishers were justified in their use of
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NEW VOLUME

A Welsh Singer

33&h thousand
By ALLEN RAINE

NOW READY

Tommy and Co.

' By JEROME K. JEROME

A White Man

By EDWIN MILTON ROYLE and J. O. FAVERSHAM

The Soul Market— England's own Jungle

By OLIVE CHRISTIAN MALVERY

(Mrs. Archibald Mackirdy)
Wltb 19 Illustrations

NEW VOLUMES

Each in crown 8ro, coloured paper cover

The Heart of a Child

By I

Author of

Fair Margaret

By H.

Author of " i

The Strayings of Sandy

The City

By FREDERIC CARREL

" A novel of such power as to stand well in comparison with Zola'* " L'Arient."
Its subject is the same, but Mr. Carrel's treatment of it is more expert than
M. Zola's."— Illustrated London Ntmi.

By FRANK DAN BY

Author of " Figs in Clover." etc.

By H. RIDER HAGGARD

Author of " King Solomon's Mines," etc.

By DOROTHEA CONYERS

Author of "Three Gins anJ j Htrm;t."

Ready in August

HUTCHINSON'S 6d. NOVELS

A Series of COPYRIGHT NOVELS by the
leading Authors, clearly and well printed

OVER SEVEN MILLIONS SOLD

NeW Volumes for 1909

188 Neither Storehouse Nor Barn Allen Raine

189 The Mystery of Court Regina Charles Garvice

190 A Son of Erin Annie S. Swan

191 Souls " Rita "

192 The Devil's Due G. B. Burgin

193 Paid For Charles Garvice

194 An Amateur Adventuress F. Frankfort Moore

195 Dufferin's Keep Evelyn Everett-Green

196 The Adventure of the Broad Arrow ... Morley Roberts.

197 Love and the Poor Suitor Percy White

198 A Girl of Spirit Charles Garvice

199 Cloth versus Silk Dorothea Conyers

200 Love at Arms Rafael Sabatini

301 A Man of No Family C. C. and E. M. Mott

202 Where Love Leads Charles Garvice

203 The World in the Church Mrs. J. H. Riddell

204 The Masctueraders "Rita"

205 The Idol-Maker Adeline Sergeant

206 At Love's Cost Charles Garvice

207 Campion Court Emma Jane Worboise

208 In a Silver Sea B. L. Farjeon

209 The Compromise Dorothea Gerard

210 Cruel London Joseph Hatton

211 The Girls of Faversham Florence Marryat

212 Judy and the Philosopher Tom Gallon

213 Surperfluous Sisters Evelyn Everett-Green

214 The Belles of Vaudroy G. B. Burgin

215 Bess of Hardendale Theodora Wilson-Wilson

216 Tangled Wedlock Bdgar jepson

217 The House of Cards Lady Troubridge

218 Raoul: Gentleman of Fortune H. C. Bailey

219 An American Woman Annie S. Swan

220 A Dull Girl's Destiny Mrs. Basilic-Reynolds

221 The Guardians of Panzy Dolf Wyllarde

222 The Marciuis Charles Garvice

HUTCHINSON'S 6d. NOVELS

ALREADY PUBLISHED

180 Th« Adventures of Police-Constable

Vane. M.A Alice and Claude Asktw

173 Love for «n Hour is Love for Ever Amelia Barr

132 The Rose of Life Miss M. E. Braddon

90 Was it a Sin ? Anna. Comtesse de Bremont

140 The Wood End J. E. Buckrose

95 The Marble City G. B. Burnin

94 Life's Trivial Round Rosa N Carey

50 Mollie's Prince Rosa N. Carer

146 My Lady Frivol Rosa N. Carey

143 Sir Charles Danvers Mary Cholmondeley

125 The Danvers Jewels Mary Cholmondeley

162 Prisoners Mary Cholmondeley

166 The Thorn Bit Dorothea Conyen

56 The Village Blacksmith Darley Dale

97 The Grand Duke Carlton Dawe

86 The Summit House Mystery L. Dougall

106 The Secret of Wold Hall Evelyn Everett-Green

174 Married in Haste Evelyn Everett-Green

105 Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square B. L. Farjeon

121 The House of White Shadows B. L. Farjeon

7 Bread and Cheese and Kisses B. L. Farjeon

51 The Last Tenant B. L. Faneon

120 The Sacred Nugget B. L. Faneon

186 The Stumbling Block Justus Miles Forman

187 A Secret Inheritance B. L. Faneon

169 Miser Farebrother B. L. Farjeon

55 The Splendid Porsenna Mrv Hiuh Fraser

135 A Corner of the West Edith Henrietta Fowler

113 Kate of Kate Hall Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler

and A. L. Pet kin

82 Place and Power Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler

1 The Farringdons Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler

172 In Subjection Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler

138 Aunt Phipps Tom Gallon

142 Kiddy Tom Gallon

107 Meg the Lady Tom Gallon

75 The Dead Ingleby Tom Gallon

13 The Girl Behind the Keys Tom Gallon

12 Peplow's Paperchase Tom Gallon

160 The Cruise of the Makebelieves Tom Gallon

151 Heart for Heart Charles Garvica

123 Linked by Fate Charles Garvica

81 Love Decides Charles Garvice

122 Lovt. the Tyrant Charles Garvice

155 Kyra's Fate Charles Garvice

168 Nell of Shorn Mills Charles Garvice

184 Olivia and Others Charles Garvice

185 The Story of a Passion Charles Garvice

77 Silvia's Lovers Mrs. Gaskell

145 The House of Riddles Dorothea Gerard

161 The Three Essentials Dorothea Gerard

15 Chiffon's Marriage "Gyp"

157 Adam's Clay Cosmo Hamilton

165 The Way of the Spirit H., Rider Hazard

181 Love Rules the Camp Lieut. -Col. Andrew C. P.

Hazard

67 Bitter Sweets Joseph Hatton

16 By Order of the Czar Joseph Hatton

112 When Greek meets Greek Joseph Hatton

164 Clytie Joseph Hatton

139 Double Harness Anthony Hope

76 The Lost Continent Cutcliffe Hyne

109 Patricia: A Mother "Iota"

HUTCHINSON'S 6d. NOVELS

ALREADY PUBLISHED

134 Paul Kelver Jerome K. Jerome

19 The Cavaliers S. R. Keightley

52 The Pikeman S. R. Keightley

74 In the Czar's Dominion Le Voleur

21 By Right of Sword A. W. Marchmont

96 In the Name of a Woman A. W. Marchmont

129 The Greatest Gift A. W. Marchmont

170 The Web of the Spider H. B. Marriott Watson

128 For Ever and Ever Florence Marryat

102 Love's Conflict Florence Marryat

65 Too Good for Him Florence Marryat

171 Gerald Estcourt Florence Marryat

101 My Lady Greensleeves Helen Mathers

108 The Story of a Sin Helen Mathers

137 The One Who Looked On F. F. Montresor

88 A Nest of Linnets F. Frankfort Moore

26 I Forbid the Banns F. Frankfort Moore

69 Phyllis of Philistia F. Frankfort Moore

149 Shipmates in Sunshine F. Frankfort Moore

66 The Secret of the Court F. Frankfort Moore

148 The White Causeway F. Frankfort Moore

29 They Call It Love F. Frankfort Moore

154 The Artful Miss Dill F. Frankfort Moore

183 The Marriage Lease F. Frankfort Moore

130 The Great White Hand J. E. Muddock

30 A Rising Star David Christie Murray

79 A Rogue's Conscience David Christie Murray

144 Twenty-five Years in Seventeen Prisons " No. 7,"

99 Franks, Duellist Ambrose Pratt

62 The Successor Richard Pryce

100 Confessions of a Ladies' Man William Le Queux

47 Of Royal Blood William Le Queux

110 Secrets of the Foreign Office William Le Queux

54 The Seven Secrets William Le Queux

32 The Under-Secretary William Le Queux

159 Whosoever Loveth William Le Queux

33 A Welsh Singer Allen Raine

59 A Welsh Witch Allen Raine

46 By Berwen Banks Allen Raine

35 Garthowen Allen Raine

98 Hearts of Wales Allen Raine

68 On the Wings of the Wind Allen Raine

117 Queen of the Rushes Allen Raine

34 Torn Sails Allen Raine

167 A Lady of the Regency Mrs. Stepney Rawson

141 The Man Who Won Mrs. Baillie-Reynolds

78 Above Suspicion Mrs. J. H. Riddell

126 A Life's Assize Mrs. J. H. Riddell

127 The Rich Husband Mrs. J. H. Riddell

103 The Ruling Passion Mrs. J. H. Riddell

163 Austin Friars Mrs. J. H. Riddell

38 An Old Rogue's Tragedy "Rita"

104 A Vagabond Lover ' Rita"

71 A Woman of Samaria 'Rita'

39 Good Mrs. Hypocrite 'Rita'

40 Peg the Rake 'Rita'

116 The Jesters 'Rita'

60 The Lie Circumspect 'Rita'

115 The Silent Woman "Rita"

84 The Sinner 'Rita"

153 Kitty the Rag ' Rita "

178 Queer Lady Judas 'Rita"

89 The Way of a Man Morley Roberts

179 A Son of Empire Morley Roberts

HUTCHINSON'S 6d. NOVELS

ALREADY PUBLISHED

177 The Trampling of the Lilies Rafael Sabatini

114 Reparation Adeline Sergeant

73 Roger Vanbrugh's Wife Adeline Servant

93 The Sixth Sense Adeline Sergeant

176 The Man Stealers M. P. Shiel

119 The Son of Gad J. A. Steuart

63 The Eternal Quest J. A. Steuart

156 A Victory Won Annie S. Swan

150 Made in His Image Guy Thorne

111 The Gambler Mrs. Katherine Cecil Thurston

131 Her Grace's Secret Violet Tweedale

147 Starvecrow Farm Stanley Weyman

91 The Grip of the Bookmaker Percy White

182 The Heart of the Dancer Percy White

136 The Yellow Van Richard Whitein*

124 Evelyn's Story Emma Jane Worboise

87 The Wife's Trials Emma Jane Worboise

175 Lottie Lonsdale Emma Jane Worboise

64 Alain Tangier's Wife I II Yoxall

83 A Love Episode (with 94 illustrations) ... Emile Zola

ALSO

52 Marie Corelli: The Writer and the T. F. G. Coates and R. S.

Woman Warren Bell

The

••A SHILLING MAGAZINE
FOR SIXPENCE."

REALM

Always well-informed, ever up-to-date, and never dull,

THE LADY'S REALM

has held its own for over twelve years against all comers.

Its List of Contributors is the strongest that any magazine,
English or American, could furnish, including, as it docs, the
most Popular Authors.

Special Features arc made of the Stories, and the Articles
are all contributed by the best-informed writers.

The Illustrations in the Magazine are of the highest class,
its artistic contributors including the foremost illustrators of
the present day.

by A. C. Fowler, 6, Tf *• c*— *. Moorfitldi, E.G.

DATE DUE

no IN u * A

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