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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:00:09 -0700 |
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diff --git a/33763-h/33763-h.htm b/33763-h/33763-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..310cee2 --- /dev/null +++ b/33763-h/33763-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9063 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Call of the Town, by J. A. Hammerton. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +.noindent { + text-indent: 0em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +.hr2 +{ + width: 90%; + max-width: 32em; + color: white; + background-color: white; + border: none; + border-bottom: 6px double black; + margin: 2em auto; +} + +.pagenum { + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} + +a:link { +color:#000000; text-decoration: none; border-bottom: 1px dashed #808080; +} + +a:visited { +color:#25383C; text-decoration: none; border-bottom: 1px dashed #808080; +} + +a:hover { +color:#008000; text-decoration: none; border-bottom: 1px dashed #808080; +} + +a:active { +color:#000000; text-decoration: none; border-bottom: 1px dashed #808080; +} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.bbox { + margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + border: solid 2px;} + +.center { + text-indent: 0em; + text-align: center;} + +.smcap { + font-variant: small-caps;} + +.smcenter { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + font-variant: small-caps;} + +.right { + margin-right: 10%; + text-align: right;} + +span.ralign { + position: absolute; + right: 10%; + top: auto; +} + +span.ralignsc { + position: absolute; + right: 10%; + top: auto; + font-variant: small-caps; + } + +.TOCR { + list-style-type:upper-roman; + margin-left: 10%; + color:black; +} + +ul.IX { + list-style-type: none; + font-size:inherit; + } + +.tnote +{ + width: 26em; + border: 1px dashed #808080; + background-color: #f6f6f6; + text-align: justify; + padding: 0em 0.75em; + margin: 20px auto 20px auto; + font-size: smaller; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Call of the Town, by John Alexander Hammerton + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Call of the Town + A Tale of Literary Life + +Author: John Alexander Hammerton + +Release Date: September 19, 2010 [EBook #33763] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CALL OF THE TOWN *** + + + + +Produced by Ernest Schaal, Nick Wall and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>THE CALL OF THE TOWN</h1> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<h1>The Call of the Town</h1> + +<h2>A Tale of Literary Life</h2> + +<p> </p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="smcenter">by</p> + +<h2>J. A. HAMMERTON</h2> + +<p class="smcenter">author of<br /> +"j. m. barrie and his books," "lord rosebery," "tony's<br /> +highland tour," etc.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center">LONDON<br /> +R. A. EVERETT & CO.<br /> +<span style="font-size: small;">42 ESSEX STREET, STRAND, W.C.</span><br /> +1904</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<p><span style="font-variant: small-caps; margin-left: 5%">chap.</span> <span class="ralignsc">page</span></p> +<ul class="TOCR"> +<li>"THE PROUD PARENT" <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_9">9</a></span></li> +<li>HENRY LEAVES HOME <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_22">22</a></span></li> +<li>THE REAL AND THE IDEAL <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_36">36</a></span></li> +<li>MR. TREVOR SMITH, IF YOU PLEASE <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_53">53</a></span></li> +<li>IN WHICH HENRY DECIDES <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_61">61</a></span></li> +<li>WHICH INTRODUCES AN EDITOR <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_70">70</a></span></li> +<li>AMONG NEW FRIENDS <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_80">80</a></span></li> +<li>THE YOUNG JOURNALIST <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_91">91</a></span></li> +<li>WHAT THE NECKTIE TOLD <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_100">100</a></span></li> +<li>VIOLET EYES <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_111">111</a></span></li> +<li>ONE'S FOLLY, ANOTHER'S OPPORTUNITY <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_122">122</a></span></li> +<li>"A JOLLY, DASHING SORT OF GIRL" <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_136">136</a></span></li> +<li>THE PHILANDERERS <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_147">147</a></span></li> +<li>FATE AND A FIDDLER <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_157">157</a></span></li> +<li>"THE MYSTERIOUS MR. P." <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_164">164</a></span></li> +<li>DRIFTING <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_177">177</a></span></li> +<li>THE WAY OF A WOMAN <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_192">192</a></span></li> +<li>IN LONDON TOWN <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_202">202</a></span></li> +<li>THE PEN AND THE PENCIL CLUB <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_214">214</a></span></li> +<li>THREE LETTERS, AND SOME OTHERS <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_228">228</a></span></li> +<li>"THAT BOOK" <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_239">239</a></span></li> +<li>HOME AGAIN <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_246">246</a></span></li> +<li>A TRAGIC ENDING <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_257">257</a></span></li> +<li>ONE SUNDAY, AND AFTER <span class="ralign"><a href="#Pg_262">262</a></span></li> +</ul> +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_9" id="Pg_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> + +<h1>THE CALL OF THE TOWN</h1> + +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>"THE PROUD PARENT"</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">If</span> you happen to be riding a bicycle you arrive +somewhat unexpectedly in the little Ardenshire +village of Hampton Bagot, and are through it in +a flash, before you quite realise its existence. But +in the unlikely event of your having business or +pleasure there, you approach the place more +leisurely in the carrier's cart from the little station +which absurdly bears the name of the village, though +two miles distant.</p> + +<p>The ancient Parish Church, with its curious old +chained library and bits of Saxon masonry, "perfectly +unique," as Mr. Godfrey Needham, the vicar, +used to say, and the one wide street of quaint old +houses, with their half-timbered fronts, remain to this +day much as they were, no doubt, when good Queen +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 10]</span> +Bess ruled England. But the thirsty cyclist, whose +throat may happen to be parched at this particular +stage of his journey, is a poor substitute for the +old-time stage-coach which made Hampton Bagot +a place of change. Somehow, the village continues +to exist, though its few hundred people scrape their +livings in ways that are not obvious to the casual +visitor. The surrounding district is richly pastoral, +plentifully sprinkled with cosy farm-houses, and here, +perhaps, we have the reason why Hampton continues +under the sun.</p> + +<p>If you wandered along the few hundred yards of +street, and noted the various substitutes for shops, +in which oranges and sweets and babies' clothing +mingle familiarly with hams and shoe-laces, you +would be struck by the more pretentious exterior +of one which bears in crudely-painted letters the +legend, EDWARD JOHN CHARLES, and underneath, +in smaller characters, the words <span class="smcap">Post Office</span>. +The building, a two-storied one, with the familiar +blackened timbers supporting high-pitched gables, +and a bay-window of lozenged glass, was, at the +time of which I write, the place of next importance +in the village to the "Wings and Spur." Behind +this window, and by peering closely, one could +see dusty packets of writing-paper and fly-blown +envelopes, a few cheap books, clay and briar pipes, +tobacco, and some withered-looking cigars. Below +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 11]</span> +the window, after diligent search, a slit for the +admission of letters might be found.</p> + +<p>But while the place itself would easily have been +passed over, not so the figure at the door; for there, +most days of the week and most hours of the day, +stood the portly form of Edward John Charles +himself.</p> + +<p>It was as though the legend overhead referred to +the man beneath, and the smile usually on his face +spoke of contentment with himself and the world +at large. His face was ruddy and clean-shaven, +as he chose to coax his whisker underneath his +chin, where it sprouted so amply that the need +to wear a collar or a tie did not exist; certainly, +was not recognised.</p> + +<p>Somewhat under medium height, and of more +than medium girth, Edward John Charles was by no +means an unpleasant figure to the eye, and if the +commonplace caste of face and prominent ears did +not suggest any marked intellectual gifts, the net +result of a casual survey was "a good-natured +sort." He had a habit of concealing his hands +mysteriously underneath his coat-tails as he stood +at the door beneath the staring sign, and his coat +had absorbed something of its owner's nature, for +by the perch of the tails one could guess his mood. +They were flapped nervously when the wearer was +displeased; they opened into a wide and settled +<b><span style="font-size: large;">V</span></b> +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 12]</span> +inverted when he was in the full flavour of his +satisfaction; and happily that was their most common +condition. Indeed, the coat-tails of Edward John +Charles were as eloquent as the stumpy appendage +of the Irish terrier usually to be seen at the door +with him.</p> + +<p>Edward John stood in his familiar place this +morning, and surveyed placidly the one and only +street of Hampton Bagot.</p> + +<p>The street does not belong to Hampton at all, +but is only so many yards of a great highway to +London. If you asked a Hampton man where it +led to, he would say to Stratford, as that is the end +of his world. That he is spending his life on a +main-travelled road that goes on and on until it is +lost in the multitudinous streets of modern Babylon +has never occurred to him. Stratford is his <i>ultima +thule</i>, the objective of his longest travels.</p> + +<p>But Edward John was no ordinary man, despite +his common exterior, and it was in the list of his +distinctions that he had in his early manhood spent +two days in London. To him, the road on which +he looked out for so many hours each day was +one of the tentacles thrown out by the mighty City +to drag the sons of Nature into its gluttonous maw.</p> + +<p>"It ain't got me, 'owever," he reflected, as he +contentedly wagged his tails; "but as for 'Enry, +why, 'oo knows?" +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 13]</span></p> + +<p>And really, what London would have done with +Edward John we cannot guess, nor have we at +present any idea of what it will do with 'Enry.</p> + +<p>At this particular moment you would scarcely +have credited the postmaster-bookseller-tobacconist +with such philosophic reflections; for he seemed to +be chiefly interested in watching with a critical eye +a dawdling creature by the name of Miffin, the +inefficient tailor across the way.</p> + +<p>Edward John pursed his lips and flapped his +coat-tails in stern disapproval of that sluggard's +method of removing the single shutter which covered +his window as a protection from the sun's rays, +rather than a barrier to thieves, the latter being +unknown in Hampton. Miffin made the mere act of +withdrawing a bolt a function of five or ten minutes' +duration, exchanging courtesies with every possible +creature in the neighbourhood, from schoolboys to +cats, while engaged in the operation. He would +even call across to Edward John on the state of the +day, and secretly wonder when the postmaster ever +did a stroke of work, while in the mind of the latter +certain wise maxims about ants and sluggards from +the Book of Proverbs were suggesting themselves as +peculiarly applicable to Mr. Miffin.</p> + +<p>Presently, as Edward John turned his glance along +the village street towards the Parish Church, which +sat on a leafy knoll to the west, with a reproving eye +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 14]</span> +on all Hampton, he saw the Rev. Godfrey Needham +hastening eastward at a brisk pace.</p> + +<p>The sight was no unusual one. Mr. Needham +never moved unless in a whirl, the looseness of his +clerical garb helping him to create quite a little +gust of energy as he hurried by with his good-hearted +greetings to his admiring parishioners. +Such haste in a man of sixty was unaccountable, +especially when one was fully alive to his appearance. +He looked as if he had suddenly awakened +after going to sleep a century before, and was in a +hurry to make up lost time. Thin-faced, with +prominent nose, and eyes red at the rims, blinking +behind spectacles; he wore a rusty clerical hat and +clothes of ancient cut and material, his trousers +terminating a good three inches above his low +shoes and disclosing socks, formerly white. The +fact that his legs remotely suggested a pair of +calipers added to the quaintness of the figure he +presented while in full stride down the village street.</p> + +<p>The moment Mr. Needham swung into view, the +coat-tails of the postmaster were violently agitated, +and his face broadened into a smile as he turned +quickly into the doorway and called:</p> + +<p>"'Enry, 'ere quick. 'Ere's the passon!"</p> + +<p>Back in the shade and coolness of the shop the +person thus addressed had been eagerly engaged +in dipping into several volumes just brought that +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 15]</span> +morning by the carrier from Birmingham, for it +was Mr. Edward John Charles's great privilege to +be the medium of obtaining books for several +of the county gentry in the neighbourhood of +Hampton, and these were always feverishly +fingered by his son Henry before being +despatched to their purchasers.</p> + +<p>This same Henry was esteemed by his fond +parent a perfect marvel of learning, and nothing +delighted more the postmaster than to present him +on all available occasions for the vicar's admiration.</p> + +<p>In response to the summons, Henry issued into +the sunlight of the open door, and craning his +neck beyond the projecting window, beheld the +advancing figure of the vicar. But the vicar, rusty +and time-soiled though he seemed, was still well-oiled +mentally, and had taken in at a glance the +manœuvres at the Post Office door. Knowing that +he would have to fight his way past, he slowed +down and approached with a pleasant "Good-morning" +to Edward John and a bright smile for +Henry, who was his favourite among the lads of +the village.</p> + +<p>"Well, Henry," he said, as if opening fire, "how +do the studies progress?"</p> + +<p>"'Enry," returned the postmaster, before the lad +had time to answer, "is making wonnerful progress, +simply wonnerful. I reckon all the prizes at the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 16]</span> +school this term are as good as 'is," and the coat-tails +opened into a particularly expanded +<b><span style="font-size: large;">V</span></b>. +"And as for Latin, vicar," he continued, "I +shouldn't be surprised if 'e was soon upsides with +yourself! 'E's at it every night. Oh, 'e do +study, I can tell you."</p> + +<p>Mr. Needham smiled at this parental puffery, +and answered somewhat timidly:</p> + +<p>"Ah, my dear Mr. Charles, I am afraid I have +credit for more Latin than I possess. Nothing +is so hard for a scholar as to live up to his +reputation."</p> + +<p>He even glanced furtively down the street, +debating whether he should clap on full sail +forthwith, and resume his voyage before the +postmaster's prodigy could gratify Edward John +by giving him a Latin poser. Only for a moment +did he hesitate, however, and recovering his self-confidence, +Mr. Needham continued brazenly:</p> + +<p>"But, after all, one does not master Latin so soon +as that. Henry, I am afraid, will still have much +to learn of the classic tongue."</p> + +<p>"But won't you try me, sir?" blurted out the +youthful subject of discussion. "I should really like +to be tested."</p> + +<p>"Come now, do, Mr. Needham," urged the postmaster +teasingly, his face shining with pleasure in +delighted anticipation of the coming battle of wits. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 17]</span> +"Tackle 'im on Virgil; tackle 'im on Virgil. Put +'im through 'is paces, do, and let's see what's in +the led."</p> + +<p>"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Mr. +Charles; but I am pressed this morning, and must +not delay further. Some other day, perhaps, I shall +see how he stands in the classics, but really I must +be off. Good morning, Mr. Charles; good morning, +Henry!"</p> + +<p>So saying, the vicar beat a retreat, and as Edward +John watched the breeze-blown frock-coat and the +twinkling calipers disappear eastward, he cherished +the suspicion that the Rev. Godfrey Needham really +did not know so much of Latin after all. Nor did +the shrewd Mr. Charles arrive at a wrong conclusion. +The dear old vicar's reputation as a Latinist rested +almost entirely on the fact that it was his custom +when showing a visitor through the Parish Church of +Hampton Bagot to point to several memorials in the +chancel, and after asking if the visitor knew Latin, +to glibly recite the inscriptions in that tongue, and +follow this up by condescending to give their +English equivalents. It was a harmless vanity, +and was typical of many little corners in the +quaint character of this good man.</p> + +<p>Miffin had now accomplished the elaborate +ceremony of opening his inefficient shop, and +sniffing contemptuously as he retired indoors at +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 18]</span> +the presumptuous Mr. Charles, whose encounter +with the vicar he had carefully overheard, he had +the satisfaction of seeing the portly form of +Edward John disappear inside the Post Office, +presumably for the purpose of doing a little +business.</p> + +<p>"And now, 'Enry," said the proud parent, still +chuckling at the obvious retreat of the vicar, "it +is time for school, my boy. Remember, <i>tempus +fugits</i>. Yes, my word, <i>tempus</i> do <i>fugit</i>."</p> + +<p>Thus admonished, the rising hope of the postmaster +shouldered his satchel and set out +schoolward.</p> + +<p>Henry Charles was in almost every sense a +direct contrast to his father. Taller than the +latter already, although not yet sixteen years of +age, he was lean and sallow of appearance, with +long, narrow, ungainly features, redeemed from +plainness only by the intensity of his glowing +brown eyes. By several years the oldest lad at +the church school, where Mr. Arnold Page retailed +his somewhat limited store of learning to some +forty scholars, Henry was the scandal of the +village. To the good folk of Hampton it seemed +almost a temptation of Providence to keep a lad +at school after he was twelve years of age, and +to them Henry was a byword for laziness and +the possibilities of a shameful end. Often would +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 19]</span> +the postmaster's cronies assure him that he could +hope for no good to come of such conduct. At +the "Wings and Spur" almost any evening "that +long, lanky, lumbering lout of a good-for-nothing, +'Enry Charles," was quoted in conversation as an +example of the follies a man could commit who +had once gone so far out of his natural station as +to visit London and admire "book-larnin'."</p> + +<p>"It's downright sinful, I calls it, to keep a led +at school arter twelve years of age, when 'e +moite be earnin' three shillin' a week a-doin' of +some honest werk."</p> + +<p>This was the opinion enunciated more than once +by Mr. Miffin in the taproom of the inn, and always +assented to with acclamation by the company.</p> + +<p>But Henry was sublimely unconscious of the +interest he created, and his father was stoutly +determined in the course he would pursue. So +the youth continued to read all the books that +came his way, to dream dreams of lands that lay +beyond eye-scope of Hampton Bagot. If the main +road through the village went to Stratford-on-Avon, +it did not stay there for Henry, and when it did go +there it carried his thoughts to the home of his +favourite author.</p> + +<p>It was, perhaps, the very fact of Hampton's +nearness to the shrine of Shakespeare that set +the postmaster's boy thinking of books and the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 20]</span> +life of letters. Already he dwelt in an enchanted +land whither none else in Hampton had ever +wandered, and from the printed page he had built +up for himself a city of his own—a city with the +familiar name of London. There, as his father +had told him—for had not Edward John trod its +streets for two whole days?—lived the great men +of letters, their busy pens plying on countless +sheets of paper, and, like the touch of magic +wands, conjuring up for their holders fame and +fortune.</p> + +<p>Edward John Charles was truly a phenomenon—a +bookseller in the tiniest way, who had become +imbued with some idea of the dignity of literature, +and esteemed its exponents in inverse ratio to his +own unlettered condition; thought of his scanty +schooling being the one shadow which ever +darkened his brow.</p> + +<p>To this fairy London, this home of learning, this +emporium of all the graces, Henry Charles looked +forward in his day-dreams, while his neighbours +lamented his father's folly in not setting him to +hoe potatoes, or at least to sell ounces of shag.</p> + +<p>"The led is struck on books; it's books with 'im +mornin', noon, an' night, and I ain't the man to +stand in 'is way," quoth Edward John, in expostulation +with a friendly neighbour who advised him to +put Henry to work. "I don't know what 'e's going +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 21]</span> +to be, or what's in 'im; but whatever it is, the led +shall 'ave his chance."</p> + +<p>And when Edward John Charles said a thing he +meant it. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_22" id="Pg_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>HENRY LEAVES HOME</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">It</span> had been ever the habit of Edward John Charles +that when he made up his mind to do a thing, that +thing was as good as done. How else would it have +been possible for a man to rise to the onerous and +honoured position of postmaster at Hampton Bagot? +For some time he had been tending to the conclusion +that Henry would soon require to make a move if +he was ever to rise in the world. Not that the +postmaster was influenced by the opinions of the +village gossips, brutally frank and straightforward +though these were. He prided himself on being +above such trifles, though, if the truth be told, the +Post Office was the veritable centre of the local +gossip-mongering.</p> + +<p>But the last encounter with Mr. Needham, and +Henry's shyly audacious offer to stand an examination +at the hands of the vicar, confirmed the portly +Mr. Charles in the opinion that his youthful prodigy +had outgrown all the possibilities of Hampton Bagot. +Had not Mr. Page confessed there was really +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 23]</span> +nothing more he could teach the studious Henry? +Did he not admit that after a few lessons in Latin +Henry shot ahead so fast he soon outstripped the +learning of his tutor? Surely, then, further delay +in starting him upon the battle of life were only +wasting his sweetness on the desert air of Hampton +Bagot, as Mr. Charles, in one of his literary moods, +would say. Besides, the supposed laziness of the +youth was a growing scandal to the community; +and after all, even the postmaster could not afford +altogether to ignore public opinion.</p> + +<p>It will have been gathered by now that although +to every outward appearance an intensely commonplace, +podgy personality, Edward John Charles +possessed within his ample bosom the qualities +which made him curiously different from the ruck +of village humanity. It would be a fair assumption +that in all the countless hamlets of sweet Ardenshire +there lived not another parent who could contemplate +with equanimity a bookish strain in the blood of +any of his offspring.</p> + +<p>The literary taste has ever been discouraged in +these parts of the green Midlands, and such stray +books as the postmaster sold to the village folk +were bought chiefly for the gilt on their covers, +which rendered them eyeable objects for the +parlour table. He himself had not read a dozen +books in all his prosperous life, and perhaps his +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 24]</span> +loud interest in literature was nothing better than +affectation, springing from the accident of his +becoming the most convenient agent for supplying +the "county people" in the neighbourhood with +their literary goods. Beginning in affectation, +his pretended admiration of books and bookmen +had fostered a serious love for them in his son, +and Edward John was just the man to boldly face +the consequences.</p> + +<p>When his mind was made up on the necessity +of translating Henry to a new field in which his +dazzling qualities could radiate with ampler freedom +than in the narrow confines of Hampton Bagot, +his thoughts turned to his friend, Mr. Ephraim +Griggs, who represented literature in the very +stronghold of its greatest captain, and already he +saw Henry a busy assistant in the well-known +second-hand book-shop at Stratford-on-Avon. A +word from him to Mr. Griggs, and the golden +gates of Bookland would swing wide open to the +glittering Henry!</p> + +<p>So, without a hint of his mission and its +weighty issues, the carrier's waggon creaked with +the added weight of Edward John Charles a few +mornings later, on its way to Stratford.</p> + +<p>For all who are willing to work without +monetary reward there is no lack of opportunity, +and Mr. Griggs readily consented to receive Henry +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 25]</span> +into his business as a second assistant. The die +was cast, and in the evening the postmaster +returned mysteriously happy. Although an inveterate +gossip, he could be tantalisingly silent +when it suited his mood, and as he surveyed +the village street from his accustomed post that +evening, there was nothing but the usual serenity +of his face and the satisfactory cock of his coat-tails +to give a clue to the sweet thoughts dancing +in his brain.</p> + +<p>When the entire Charles family were seated +at the supper-table, the auspicious moment had +arrived for Edward John to disclose his hand. +Whatever he thought fit to arrange would be +good. Mrs. Charles, a thin little person, who +worshipped her ample husband from afar, and +spent her life in cleaning the five living rooms +which constituted their household, never removing +the curl-papers from her hair until after tea, was +certain to applaud his every opinion, while the +three girls, the eldest of whom bore the burden +of the business on her shoulders, could be depended +upon for reserve support.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Charles had detailed the arrangements +he had made, whereby Henry was to enter +the business of Mr. Ephraim Griggs, there was +unanimous approval.</p> + +<p>"I've always said, 'Enry, that you'd 'ave your +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 26]</span> +chance, and 'ere it is," said Mr. Charles, brushing +some crumbs of cheese from his whisker. "There +is no sayin' what this may lead to. Some of the +greatest men in the world 'ave started lower +down the ladder than that."</p> + +<p>"Yes, dad," responded the delighted Henry. +"Why, Shakespeare himself used to hold horses +for gentlemen in London."</p> + +<p>"Just look at that," beamed Mr. Charles on his +worshipping family. "Shakespeare uster 'old 'osses. +You'll never need to do that, my boy."</p> + +<p>"And his father was only a woolstapler, dad!" +panted the youth.</p> + +<p>"A common woolstapler! Think on't! And +me in the book-line—in a small way, p'raps—but +in the book-line, for all that."</p> + +<p>And the thought that a woolstapler's son who +had been fain to tend horses for a penny, and +in the end had achieved deathless fame which +brought admirers from the ends of the earth to +his humble birthplace in Stratford-on-Avon, made +Edward John look around his own little house, +and wonder how many years it would be before +the world was trooping to Hampton Bagot to +gaze on the early home of Henry Charles. +Hampton was only a few miles from Stratford, +and Henry would never be so low as the +holding of horses. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 27]</span></p> + +<p>We can but dimly realise the joy with which +Henry received the news of the opening his +father had made for him. To a lad of his +temperament he already saw himself a chartered +libertine in the realms of literature, roving from +book to book on the crowded shelves of Mr. +Griggs; here following the doughty deeds of some +of Sir Walter's heroes, taking a hand, perchance, in +the rescue of his heroines, and anon communing +with such glorious company as Addison and Lamb +and Hazlitt. Had he not read and re-read, and +remembered every chapter of that classic work of +which his father had sold as many as seven copies +in six months to the Hamptonians—"Famous +Boyhoods," by Uncle Jim? Within the gold-encrusted +covers of that enchanting book had he +not learned how Charles Dickens used to paste +labels on jam-pots before he found fame and +fortune in a bottle of ink? Was not he aware +that Robert Burns had been a ploughman, and +were not ploughmen in Hampton Bagot as common +as hay-ricks and as poor as mice? Had not Oliver +Goldsmith been hard put to it often to find a dinner, +while Henry Charles had never lacked a meal? +And had not Dr. Johnson, who received a ludicrously +large sum of money for making a dictionary, +lived in a garret? Emphatically, Henry Charles had +reason to look the future in the face clear-eyed, and +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 28]</span> +to bless Uncle Jim for giving him those inspiring +facts. Moreover, a famous author had said: "In +the lexicon of youth there is no such word as fail." +Had not Henry copied these lines in atrocious +handwriting till they swam before his eyes, and +had not his schoolmaster assured him his penmanship +was the worst he had ever witnessed, and were +not all great authors wretched penmen? True, he +still had doubts as to what "the lexicon of youth" +might be.</p> + +<p>Unlike his father, Henry was not a talkative +person, and, indeed, it was one of the black marks +against him in popular opinion that he did not make +himself as sociable as he might have done with the +lads of Hampton. But weighted with such news, +the need to noise it abroad was pressing, and as +soon as he could slip away from the supper-table +he was publishing the intelligence wherever a +chance opening could be found.</p> + +<p>In five minutes it had the village by the ears, and +the inefficient Miffin, ironing a coat at the moment +it reached him, paused in his operation to deliver +himself of a sceptical sniff and some adverse opinions +on puffed-up fools who were eternally talking of +book-larnin' and things quite above them, instead +of attending to their business.</p> + +<p>"In moi opinion," and he stated it with engaging +frankness, "Edward John would do a sight better +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 29]</span> +to let his long-legged lout stick at 'ome and sell +nibs and sealin'-wex and postage-stemps, like his +fifteen-stone father."</p> + +<p>But really, Miffin's opinion did not count for +much, although on this occasion it cost him dear, +as he had left the heated iron lying on the coat, +to its eternal destruction.</p> + +<p>Elated with the prospect which the magic wand +of his father had swung open to his sight—those +fields of fair renown through which he was about +to wander—Henry had soon exhausted the possibilities +of the village, and found himself tramping +the field-path towards Little Flixton, in the hope +of meeting some returning villagers, to whom he +could unbosom the startling news at first hand, +and have the joy of surprising them into +congratulations.</p> + +<p>The meadows had been lately cut, and the smell +of new-mown hay hung sensuously in the air. Never +would he forget that evening in all the years that +were to be. Although the hay-fields had been to +him a commonplace of life since he could toddle, +they would never smell as they did that night, and +would never be so sweet again. After all, it is our +sense of smell that treasures for us most vividly the +impressions of our life. The memory of all our great +moments is aided largely by our nostrils.</p> + +<p>In one of these meadows, sloping down from a +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 30]</span> +wooded mound, Henry espied a white-frocked girlish +figure seated among the hay in the soft gloaming. +It was Eunice Lyndon, the grand-daughter of old +Carne, the sexton, who, as he told you himself, had +held that post for "two-an'-forty year." Eunice's +mother, old Carne's only daughter, whom many +remembered as the "Rose of Hampton," had died +of consumption, and there were some who thought +that the shadow of this dread complaint hung over +the girl also.</p> + +<p>Now, as a rule, Henry had a poor opinion of +girls. They were all very well in their way, of +course, but could never hope to shine in the world +like men. This evening, however, he was so brimful +of his news that he was glad to tell it to anybody. +He had even told Maggs, the blacksmith, though +the latter had been over-free with cider at the +"Wings and Spur."</p> + +<p>Henry crossed the slope of the meadow towards +Eunice, who held a long stalk of grass in her hand, +and was intent upon watching a green caterpillar +worming its way up it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Henry," she cried out, a pretty blush +mounting to her cheeks as he approached, "just +look at this fellow!"</p> + +<p>Henry glanced down disdainfully at the caterpillar. +Such trifles were altogether beneath his +notice in that great hour. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 31]</span></p> + +<p>"Listen, Eunice," he began, flinging himself down +beside her. "I have news for you."</p> + +<p>"News!" she echoed, still intent upon the caterpillar. +"Isn't it a lovely green?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going away."</p> + +<p>She raised her head, and two violet eyes, with a +puzzled expression, were dreamily fixed upon him, +half-questioning.</p> + +<p>"Going away! Where to?... Oh, there, I've +lost it!" as the caterpillar fell among the grass.</p> + +<p>"To Stratford first," Henry answered in a lordly +way; "afterwards—London, I daresay."</p> + +<p>Eunice was profoundly impressed. London! +Wasn't that a risky undertaking? She knew it +to be a wonderful place when one got there, but +had heard it was crowded with people who did +terrible things. Mr. Jukes, the landlord of the +"Wings and Spur," had been to London on some +law business not long ago, and could talk of +nothing else since. Indeed, Edward John Charles +had felt Mr. Jukes's rivalry very keenly; for the +innkeeper's visit being of later date than his, the +glory of it was fresher to the Hampton mind.</p> + +<p>Henry, conscious that he had taken her breath +away, gathered up his knees and fell to dreaming +of London. The shadows of evening crept softly +upon them as they sat there; the trees on the high +ground behind them rustled gently in the light +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 32]</span> +summer breeze; and somehow, the whole scene—the +sloping meadow, the darkening hedgerows, the +shadowy outline of the country beyond—mingled +strangely with his dreams of the future. Years +afterwards, when the quiet, peaceful life of Hampton +was a dear thing of the past to him, the scent of +new-mown hay recreated that evening in every +detail, and he saw again the rose-flushed lass who +had sat in silent wonder by his side.</p> + +<p>Mr. Charles was of opinion that the sooner his son +was started on his upward course the better. Henry, +therefore, was withdrawn from school, and immediate +preparations made for his departure—preparations in +which Edward John took no manual part, but which, +judging by the poise of his coat-tails, went forward +to his mind. Mrs. Charles even forgot to take the +curl-papers out of her hair for two whole days before +the eventful morning.</p> + +<p>On the eve of the day appointed for Henry's +departure Mr. Page called in to wish him good-bye. +A little later the vicar flashed for a moment +into the dingy interior of the shop and shook +hands with him.</p> + +<p>"Remember, my dear Henry, <i>labor omnia vincit +improbus</i>, as the Latinists say," using one of his few +but favourite Latin phrases, and rolling it lovingly +like a chocolate-cream 'twixt tongue and palate. +"And remember also, my dear Henry, that <i>les belles</i> +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 33]</span> +<i>actions cachées sont les plus estimables</i>," pronouncing +atrociously a phrase he had picked up a few +hours before, "which means, my dear young +friend, that you should do good by stealth, and +blush to find it fame."</p> + +<p>Henry blushed forthwith.</p> + +<p>"And let me present you with a little keepsake. +It is a copy of my new book, my poem on +Queen Victoria, which the <i>Midland Agricultural +News</i> has described in terms of praise that I hope +I am too modest to quote. I have signed it with +my autograph, and I trust you will lay to heart +its lessons."</p> + +<p>The poem in question was a sixteen-page +pamphlet in a gaudy cover. It enjoyed a large +circulation by gratuitous distribution. To the +vicar's great regret, he had found at the end of +a dictionary the French phrase about beautiful +actions too late to be incorporated in his verses.</p> + +<p>Henry was profoundly moved, but like all +great people in their great moments, he was +deplorably commonplace.</p> + +<p>"I thank you, sir," was all his genius prompted. +He was gravelled for a Latin snatch to cap the +vicar's, and the Rev. Godfrey Needham stood +supreme.</p> + +<p>"Eh, but <i>tempus</i> do <i>fugit</i>, passon," Edward +John broke in at this juncture. "It's only loike +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 34]</span> +yesterday that 'Enry was a-startin' school, and +'ere 'e's a-goin' out into the great world to carve +out a name for hisself—'oo knows 'e ain't?"</p> + +<p>"With youth all things are possible." returned +Mr. Needham. "We shall be proud of Henry yet. +He certainly has my best wishes for his success. +<i>Sursum corda</i>, my friend, as the Latin hath it. +And to you, Henry, <i>Deus vobiscum</i>. Good-bye!"</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, and thank you, sir," said the +overwhelmed Henry.</p> + +<p>In a moment more the white-socked calipers had +carried Mr. Needham out of Henry's life for some +years to come.</p> + +<p>When the great morning arrived, the whole house +was turned upside down. The village itself was +agitated. Henry was quite the hero of the moment, +despite the sniffing disapproval of Miffin. But one +can't destroy a coat and retain a friendly feeling +for the cause of the catastrophe.</p> + +<p>"Merk moi werds," he said to his apprentice, as +together they watched from behind the door the +preparations across the street. "Young Che'les will +never do nowt. He'll come to a bed end, and +Ed'ard John will rue this day. Merk moi werds." +And he emphasised his wisdom with a skinny +forefinger.</p> + +<p>Henry's mother cried over him a little, and impressed +upon him that the three pots of blackberry +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 35]</span> +jam—her own making—were at the bottom of his +trunk, away from the shirts and linen, in case of +accident. His sisters, one by one, threw their arms +around him, and said commonplace things to him +to hide the less common thoughts in their mind.</p> + +<p>At length Henry took his seat on the carrier's +waggon, after receiving a luminous impression of +London—modern London, not the Edward-John +London—from Mr. Jukes of the "Wings and Spur," +and drove away, turning his face from his friends +to avoid a silly inclination to cry. As the carrier +cracked his whip while his horses gathered pace +down the street, his passenger looked back to the +old familiar house and signalled to the group still +standing by the door; but for all the high hopes +that beckoned him along this road that ran to +London he was sorry to go.</p> + +<p>When they were passing the cottage of old Carne, +and a sweet face lit by two violet eyes looked out +between the dimity curtains, while a girl's hand +rattled pleasantly on the window, Henry smiled and +waved his arm. But he was dimly conscious he +had lost something he could not define. It had +to do with tears on a woman's wrinkled face. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_36" id="Pg_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>THE REAL AND THE IDEAL</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">It</span> was a perfect day in "the sweet o' the year" +when the carrier's waggon creaked along the +highway to Stratford with Henry Charles perched +beside the red-faced driver.</p> + +<p>There is, perhaps, no county in all England so +full of charm in spring-time and the early summer +as leafy Ardenshire. The road on which the +hope of Hampton travelled is typical of many in +that fair countryside. Gleaming white in the +morning sunshine, it lies snug between high banks +of prodigal growth, bramble and trailing arbutus, +backed by green bushes, among which the massy +white clots of elder-blossom look like snowy souvenirs +of the winter that has fled, with here and there a +strong note of colour struck by swaying foxgloves. +The lanes that steal away from the highway are +often as beautiful as those of glorious Devon, +and all bear promise that if the wanderer will but +come with them he will surely find the veritable +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 37]</span></p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">"Bank whereon the wild thyme blows,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Where oxlip and the nodding violet grows;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Quite over-canopy'd with luscious woodbine,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>But it was not of the wild beauties by the way +that Henry thought as onward creaked the +waggon. Nor was it for long that the picture of +his mother's face and the light of violet eyes +occupied his mind. His thoughts ran forward +swifter than ever the train would go which in +later years was to bring Hampton Bagot within +half-an-hour's journey of Stratford.</p> + +<p>Twice before had he travelled this same way, +and both times to the same place. But now all +was changed. The carrier would crack his whip +on his homeward way that evening and sing his +snatches of song, but not for Henry.</p> + +<p>For the first time in his life the youth would +stretch himself upon an unfamiliar bed, and hear +voices that had never spoken to him before. He +would tread the streets where once the steps of +the immortal bard had been as common as his +own comings and goings at the Hampton Post +Office. Till now he had dreamed what life might +be in a town larger than his native hamlet, and +this night he would begin to know, to live it.</p> + +<p>The wayside wild flowers, so recently part and +parcel of his daily life, paled before his eyes when +he thought of the temple of books toward which +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 38]</span> +his course was bent. The smell of the new bindings, +and the mouldy suggestions of old volumes, +were sweeter to him for the moment than the +scented hedgerows. Already he had built up for +himself the figure of his Mr. Ephraim Griggs.</p> + +<p>A man of medium height, somewhat bent in +the back, high forehead, intelligent face, eyes aided +with spectacles in their constant task of examining +the treasures stacked around.</p> + +<p>His hair? Grey—yes, of course, it must be +grey; thin to baldness on the top, but abundant +at the back of the head. Clothes? Old-fashioned, +no doubt; negligent, certainly; yet not altogether +slovenly.</p> + +<p>He saw the figure, vivid as life, moving about +the shop, talking with innocent display of erudition +to some wealthy customer, or half reluctantly +selling a costly volume from his shelves.</p> + +<p>This dream-companion kept him company all +the way, and it was only in a listless fashion that +he chatted with the carrier, to whom books were +no better than common lumber.</p> + +<p>Stratford was reached early in the afternoon, +and as the waggon rumbled over the Clopton +Bridge, Henry thought that the scene presented +here by the soft flowing Avon, with the spire of +Shakespeare's Church softly etched on the sky, and +the strange masonry of the world-famed Memorial +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 39]</span> +Theatre in the middle distance, was the fairest +man could see.</p> + +<p>The thoughtfulness of his father had arranged +for Henry a lodging near to Rother Street, and +thither the carrier undertook to drive him before +stopping at the market-hall to distribute his +goods. On the way up the broad and pleasant +High Street Henry was excited, for there, to his +joy, he beheld the name of Ephraim Griggs upon a +window well stocked with books—smaller, perhaps, +and dustier than he had pictured it in his own +mind.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Filbert, the landlady with whom Edward +John had arranged for Henry's board and lodging, +was a widow of more than middle age, who had +brought up a considerable family, most of whom +were now "doing for themselves." In summertime +she often let her best rooms to visitors, but +nothing rejoiced her more than the prospect of a +permanent lodger. She was fortunate already +in having one who came under that description, +and whose acquaintance we may make in due +time.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Filbert was a motherly soul, and set Henry +at his ease at once when she took him to the +little bedroom he was to share with one of her +sons, a lad about his own age. Nor would she +allow him to fare forth into the town until he +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 40]</span> +had disposed of some dinner she had kept for +him, suspecting that his means did not run to the +luxury of a meal at one of the country inns on +the way from Hampton.</p> + +<p>When Henry had freed himself from the motherly +attentions of Mrs. Filbert, and again found himself +in the High Street, it was late afternoon. With +a beating heart he walked direct to the shop of +Mr. Griggs, but as his engagement commenced the +next morning, he did not intend to present himself +to his future employer that afternoon.</p> + +<p>His purpose was merely a preliminary inspection +of the place, for on his two previous visits to +Stratford the establishment which had suddenly +become his centre of interest had not been noticed +by him.</p> + +<p>The window was dustier than he had supposed +from his sight of it while passing with the carrier, +and many of the books that were offered for +sale were disappointingly commonplace. As for +the collection in the window-box, labelled in +crude blue letters, "All in this row 2<i>d.</i> each," he +was amazed that Mr. Griggs should exhibit them. +For the most part they were old school-books, +and he remembered, with a sudden sense of wealth +unreckoned, that he had quite a number at home +as good as these. He was not aware that only a +summer ago a sharp visitor had picked up from +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 41]</span> +this bundle a volume which he sold in London +for £9.</p> + +<p>Timidly did Henry peep in at the doorway, +which was narrower than he had expected, and +a trifle shabby so far as painting was concerned.</p> + +<p>So much as he could see of the shop inside +accorded but little better with his mental picture +of the place. Books were there in abundance, +many of them presenting some degree of order, +and as many more seemingly in hopeless +confusion.</p> + +<p>He got a glimpse of a counter, at which he +supposed the business of the place was transacted, +but the inadequate back view of the figure of a young +man bending at a desk in a gloomy corner was +the only thing suggesting life.</p> + +<p>His first peep assuredly was not what he had +looked forward to, but who knew to what hidden +chambers of interest the door at the far side of +the front shop gave access?</p> + +<p>Afraid to further pursue his inspection, Henry +moved away somewhat hurriedly when the young +man at the desk showed signs of moving towards +the door, having probably scented a customer.</p> + +<p>He wandered next to Shakespeare's Church, +lingering on the way at the Memorial, then fresh +from the hands of the builders, and loudly out of +harmony with everything else in Stratford. Anon he +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 42]</span> +was peeping in at the old Grammar School and +the Guild Hall, and tea-time found him loitering +around the Birthplace, with half a desire to set out +then and there to Anne Hathaway's Cottage.</p> + +<p>The business of dealing in Shakespeare's +memory had not yet developed into Stratford's +staple industry, nor had local boyhood begun to +earn precarious pennies by waylaying visitors and +rehearsing to them in parrot fashion the leading +dates in the life of the poet. But the principal +show-place of the town had long been attracting +pilgrims from the ends of the earth, and for the +first time in his life Henry heard the English +language produced with strong nasal accompaniment +by a group of brisk-looking young men and +women issuing from the shrine in Market Street.</p> + +<p>There was little sleep for him that night, nor was +the unusual circumstances of his sharing a bed with +another youth the cause of it. He wondered at his +ability to peep in at Mr. Griggs's door without entering +precipitately and avowing himself the new assistant. +But his father's instructions on this point had been +explicit. He had to present himself at the proper +hour of the morning; neither early nor late, but at +the hour precisely. It would have been unbusiness-like +to stroll in the previous afternoon, and if +business-like habits were not acquired now they +never would be. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 43]</span></p> + +<p>But Henry had read so recently the wonderful +story of "Monte Cristo," and was so impressed by +the hero's habit of keeping his appointments to the +second, that he required no advice on this point.</p> + +<p>"Suppose I go down in the morning and enter the +shop when the market-clock is striking the fifth note +of nine. That would be a good start to make!"</p> + +<p>Thus he thought, and thus he did. But alas! the +new Monte Cristo found no appreciative audience +awaiting him.</p> + +<p>For a moment he stood at the counter in the +middle of the shop, with half a mind to run away. +His entry had been unheralded, unobserved. No +one was visible. But hesitating whether to knock +on the counter, as customers at Hampton Post Office +were wont to do, or take down a book until someone +appeared, he became aware of certain sounds +issuing from behind a wooden partition which +enclosed a corner of the shop.</p> + +<p>Henry shuffled his feet noisily, and plucked up +courage to rap on the counter, for the market-clock +had ceased its striking by quite a minute, and no one +had witnessed his romantic punctuality.</p> + +<p>In answer to the knocking there appeared from +behind the partition a youngster of some twelve +years, who seemed to have been disturbed in some +pleasant but undutiful occupation. On seeing that +the person at the counter was merely a youth, just +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 44]</span> +old enough to make a boy wish to be his age, but +not old enough to inspire him with respect, the +youngster, without a word of inquiry or apology, +stooped down and lifted on to the counter a little +bull pup, which he stroked with all the pride of a +fancier, challenging Henry with his eyes to produce +its equal.</p> + +<p>Loftily indifferent to the behaviour of the boy, and +secretly wondering if Monte Cristo had ever been so +absurdly received on any of the occasions when he +opened a door as the clock struck the appointed hour +of meeting, Henry said, with a touch of indignation +in his voice:</p> + +<p>"I am the new assistant, and I wish to see Mr. +Griggs."</p> + +<p>The boy gave a whistle of surprise, and eyed +Henry boldly. Hastily stowing away the pup in +some secret receptacle under the counter, he +proceeded to the side-door, taking a backward +glance at the new assistant, and disclosing under +his snub nose a very wide and smiling mouth.</p> + +<p>"Shop!" bawled the lad, as he opened the door.</p> + +<p>Without another word, and leaving the door +ajar, he went and perched himself on a stool, +from which position he brazenly surveyed the new +assistant.</p> + +<p>Henry waited, quailing somewhat under the +searching gaze of this juvenile servitor in the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 45]</span> +temple of literature. He surveyed at leisure the +walls so thickly stacked with dusty volumes, and +wondered why the youngster was not cleaning +them or arranging the bundles on the floor, instead +of sitting on the stool swaying his legs idly.</p> + +<p>How different it all was from what he had +expected! The books were there and in abundance, +yet they were heaped about more like potatoes in +a greengrocer's than things worthy of respect. It +was difficult to connect this youthful dog-fancier +with literary pursuits, and Henry could only hope +that Mr. Griggs in his person would make up for +what his establishment had lost in contrast with +his ideal picture of it.</p> + +<p>It was some little time before the shuffle of +slip-shod feet was heard behind the back-door. +The new assistant grew expectant. The shuffle +suggested the approach of the venerable book-lover +himself. There was a pause, during which Henry's +heart thumped against his bosom, and then a large +and tousled head was thrust inquiringly beyond +the door, in a way that suggested a desire to +conceal the absence of a collar and tie.</p> + +<p>The head belonged to Mr. Ephraim Griggs, +dealer in second-hand books and prints.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's young Charles, is it?" said Mr. Griggs, +displaying a little more of his person, and showing +that he was in the act of drying his hands. "Just +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 46]</span> +come in here, will you?" he went on, jerking +his head back towards the passage. "I want +your advice."</p> + +<p>Wondering on what subject he might be capable +of advising the veteran, he went through to the +passage, where Mr. Griggs, having finished with +the towel, offered him a cold and flabby hand.</p> + +<p>Henry felt tempted to laugh, and probably a +little inclined to cry, when he stood before his +employer, and found that his mental portrait of +the man tallied in no particular with the person +facing him.</p> + +<p>There was little of the book-worm about Mr. +Griggs. He did not even wear spectacles; an +offence which Henry found hardest to forgive. +Not so tall as Edward John, nor yet so stout, he +was a long-bearded fellow, with a nasty habit of +breathing heavily through his nose, as if that +organ were clogged with dust from his books. As +he stood before Henry he was in his shirt-sleeves, +and, judging by the latter, the garment as a whole +was ready for the wash. His waistcoat was glossy +with droppings of snuff; his trousers, Henry noticed, +were very baggy at the knees and appeared to be +a size too large for him; while his feet were +encased in ragged carpet slippers.</p> + +<p>Evidently Mr. Griggs was in some trouble, and +while Henry was speculating as to what the cause +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 47]</span> +of his anxiety might be, the learned bookseller +said, somewhat anxiously, and in a thin, wheezy +voice:</p> + +<p>"Tell me, do you know anythink about poultry?"</p> + +<p>"Poultry!" gasped Henry.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Mr. Griggs, with a solemnity +which struck the new assistant as absurdly +pathetic. "Hens," he explained further; "my +best one is down with croup or somethink o' +the kind. Your father has taken a many prizes +with his birds, and I thought you might know +all about 'em. I've never had great success with +'em myself. Come outside and tell me what you +think."</p> + +<p>Without waiting for a reply, the bookseller +shuffled through the passage into a back-yard, +and the youth followed as one in a dream.</p> + +<p>The yard was almost entirely devoted to poultry, +and if Mr. Griggs was an amateur at the pursuit, +he had at least prepared for it in no mean way, +three sides of the place being taken up with +wired hen-runs and a wooden house for his stock. +In a compartment by itself, gasping and choking, +lay the object of the old man's solicitude.</p> + +<p>"The finest layer I ever had," he declared +despondingly. "An egg a day as reg'lar as +clockwork. I'd rather lose two of the others."</p> + +<p>His sorrow deepened when Henry said that he +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 48]</span> +had never seen a hen in that state before, and +did not know what was wrong with it.</p> + +<p>"Then I'll be forced to ask old John +Shakespeare, the grocer, what to do; although I +'ate the man, and don't want to be beholden to +him for anythink. But he's our champion breeder, +and what must be, must be."</p> + +<p>Shakespeare, grocer, hens! Henry doubted +seriously if his ears were doing their duty, but +there was no mistaking the anxiety of Mr. +Ephraim Griggs. He could not have been more +perturbed if his wife had been dangerously ill. +His wife? That reminded Henry that he had +heard his father say Mrs. Griggs had been dead +these many years. Perhaps that was why the +bookseller was so untidy.</p> + +<p>"You had better go back to the shop, my lad," +said he, in a voice which meant he was now +resigned to the worst, "and take a look round. I'll +be in there directly."</p> + +<p>When Henry returned to the shop he found +that Mr. Pemble, the senior assistant, had arrived; +but for the moment that young gentleman was +so engrossed with the study of his features in a +broken looking-glass that he did not notice +Henry's entrance. Mr. Pemble's anxiety seemed +to be centred around the tardy growth of an +incipient moustache, which, when an illuminating +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 49]</span> +ray of sunshine fell upon his upper lip, was +readily visible to the naked eye.</p> + +<p>A somewhat prim and characterless person, with +more teeth than his mouth seemed able to +accommodate, Mr. Pemble was the <i>bête noir</i> of +Jenks, the dog-loving shop-boy, who, with a sly +wink to Henry and an expressive grimace, +indicated unmistakably his opinion of the senior +assistant.</p> + +<p>This was a sign to the new-comer that if he +cared to make common cause against Mr. Pemble, +Jenks was with him to the death; but Henry, +either in his rustic simplicity or his lofty indifference +to the youngster, did not respond, and +waited for Mr. Pemble to languidly acknowledge +his presence.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you're the new assistant Mr. Griggs was +speaking of," he said at length.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," replied Henry, and at the delicious +sound of the flattering "sir" Mr. Pemble endeavoured +to tug his laggard moustache. "Mr. Griggs +says I'm to have a look round until he is ready," +Henry went on, casting a dubious glance at the +walls and the thickly-strewn floor.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right," drawled Mr. Pemble, who +now turned his attention to some small parcels that +had arrived by the morning's post.</p> + +<p>In a little while Mr. Griggs appeared, fully +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 50]</span> +clothed, by the addition of a faded black morning +coat and a creased white collar. He beckoned +Henry into the back-parlour, which served as a sort +of office and a general lumber-room.</p> + +<p>"Sit you down, my lad, and let's see what we have +here," he said, pointing to a crazy arm-chair beside +an old Pembroke table, on which a broken ink-bottle +and some rusty pens lay, together with a +muddle of notepaper.</p> + +<p>The bookseller then turned to a large case of old +volumes recently acquired at the sale of a country +house, and picking up several of these he flapped +the dust from them, puffing and blowing like a +walrus. Glancing briefly at the title-pages of the +first two, he threw them in a corner with a brief +but emphatic "Rubbish!" The next fished forth +satisfied him better, and taking up one of his latest +catalogues, he showed Henry how to write down +the title and description of the book.</p> + +<p>So he proceeded for a time, initiating the youth +in the art of cataloguing, which with Mr. Griggs +did not take a particularly exalted form. He +eschewed such aids to ready references as alphabetical +entry, and was content so long as the +principal items of his stock appeared on his printed +list, quite irrespective of order or value. These +lists, villainously printed, were a source of unfailing +amusement to the educated book-buyers into whose +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 51]</span> +hands they fell, for every page contained the most +hilarious blunders, whereby the best-known classics +assumed new and surprising disguises.</p> + +<p>Henry took to the simple work eagerly, and +displayed far greater interest than his employer did +in the books that came to light as the case was +gradually emptying. Now and again during the +forenoon Mr. Griggs would suddenly disappear from +the parlour, as his thoughts reverted to his suffering +Dorking, only to return from his visit to the poultry +with a gloomy shake of the head.</p> + +<p>When dinner-time arrived, Henry and Jenks were +left in charge of the shop while Mr. Pemble went +home to dine, and the old bookseller shambled +upstairs to some of the unknown domestic rooms. +Jenks, unabashed by Henry's obvious determination +not to familiarise with him, boldly asked if he +knew how to play that great and universal game +of boyhood called "knifey." When Henry said +that he didn't, and hadn't time to think of it, +Jenks was filled with disgust, for he found it a +delightful pastime when the hours hung heavy on +his hands, and he had been at the trouble to import +a specially soft piece of wood for the purpose of +playing "knifey" whenever an opportunity occurred. +Failing Henry's assistance, he brazenly proceeded +to engage in the pastime by himself.</p> + +<p>The task of cataloguing occupied but little of the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 52]</span> +afternoon, and for the remainder of the day there +was nothing to do but idling. Indeed, Henry found +himself wondering by what means Mr. Griggs +contrived to exist, as nothing seemed to matter +beyond his devotion to the poultry and Mr. +Pemble's frequent inspections of his upper lip.</p> + +<p>On the whole, the impression left by his first day +at business was by no means bright, as he could +not suppose there would be books to catalogue +every day, and he had not seen more than +half-a-dozen customers in the shop. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_53" id="Pg_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>MR. TREVOR SMITH, IF YOU PLEASE</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">Ten</span> days had passed, and the new assistant was +more than ever at a loss to understand how a +business so laxly conducted and apparently so +unremunerative could provide a living for Mr. +Griggs, Pemble, and Jenks. Henry knew that he, +at least, was no burden on his employer's finances; +but he was not yet aware that Mr. Pemble was +there on a similar footing, while Jenks's labours +were rewarded weekly with half-a-crown.</p> + +<p>But this morning a bright and new star swung +into his ambit, when a young man of about twenty +years of age sauntered jauntily into the shop, his +hat stuck on one side of his head and a cigarette +drooping from his lips, where grew a moustache +which must have struck envy into the soul of Mr. +Pemble. The new-comer winked cheerily to Jenks, +nodded a "How d'you do?" to the senior assistant, +and then, to Henry's surprise, he said:</p> + +<p>"I suppose you're the chap that Mrs. Filbert's +been telling me about. We're both in the same digs."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon!" Henry stammered. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 54]</span></p> + +<p>"Same digs. Fellow-lodgers, don't you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh! then you're Mr. Smith that Mrs. Filbert +always talks about," answered Henry, brightening.</p> + +<p>"That's me, my boy; but, if you please, Trevor +Smith—with the accent on the Trev. There's such +a beastly lot of Smiths nowadays that a fellow's got +to stick up for his other name if he doesn't want to +be buried in the crowd."</p> + +<p>"I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Trevor +Smith," replied Henry, who, it will be seen, was +beginning to know something of the social graces.</p> + +<p>"Right you are, young 'un," said the breezy one. +"I'm just back from my fortnight's holidays. Been +to London, don't you know. Jolly time. Thought +I'd give you a shout on my way to the office. See +you later, and tell you all about it. Ta-ta! I'm off. +Big case on at the police court this morning."</p> + +<p>Mr. Smith—Mr. Trevor Smith, if you please—was +indeed a person who had assumed considerable +importance in Henry's mind before he met him face +to face. He was the permanent lodger by whom +good Mrs. Filbert set much store.</p> + +<p>"'E's that smart," she told Henry the first night +he had stayed beneath her roof "there's no sayin' +what he don't know. He writes a many fine things +in the <i>Guardian</i>, specially 'is story of the Mop, +which my Tommy read out quite easy-like last +October." +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 55]</span></p> + +<p>"He'll be a journalist, then," Henry suggested.</p> + +<p>"Somethink o' the sort, I reckon. Leastways, +e's a heditor or a reporter or somethink. The +<i>Guardian</i> pays 'im to stay for it 'ere. So 'e must +be clever. Oh, you'll like 'im, 'Enry. Everybody +likes Mr. Trevor."</p> + +<p>It seemed to Henry a real stroke of fortune +that had brought him to the very house where +one engaged in literary pursuits resided, and +although keenly disappointed at the melancholy +falling off in his actual experience of life under +the ægis of Mr. Griggs, compared with his vision +of what that was to be, he now looked forward +to meeting Mr. Trevor Smith with the hope that +he might point the way to better things.</p> + +<p>The exact position of that local representative +of the Fourth Estate is best defined as district +reporter. The paper which employed him was +published in the busy industrial centre of +Wheelton, some twenty-five miles distant, where it +maintained a struggling existence as the <i>Wheelton +Guardian</i>.</p> + +<p>It was the duty of Mr. Smith to write a column +of notes on men and affairs in the Stratford district +every week, to supply reports of the local police +court proceedings, municipal meetings, and so forth, +and also to canvass for advertisements, the few +hundred copies of the paper sold in Stratford +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 56]</span> +every week, thanks to these attractions, being +mendaciously headed <i>Stratford Guardian</i>.</p> + +<p>What the district reporter—who occasionally +hinted that he was really the editor when he saw +a chance to impress a stranger thereby—called +"the office," was a desk in the back premises +of the news-agent and fancy-goods-shop whence the +<i>Guardian</i> was distributed weekly.</p> + +<p>Everybody did like Mr. Smith. It was part of +his business to be well liked, and if there was a +good deal of humbug about him, he was still +excellent value to the <i>Guardian</i> for the twenty-one +shillings which the proprietors of that journal paid +him each week. One does not expect genius for +a guinea a week; not even the ability to write +English. But it is a mistake to suppose the latter +is ever required of a district reporter. The essential +qualifications are a working knowledge of shorthand +and a good conceit of oneself. Mr. Trevor +Smith was deficient in neither; certainly not in +the latter quality. He was generously impressed +with the magnitude of his importance, and had +chosen the Miltonic motto for his "Stratford Notes +and Comments":</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Give me the liberty to know, to think, +and to utter freely above all other +liberties.</span>"</p></div><p> +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 57]</span></p> + +<p>He took this liberty whenever he knew that the +weight of local opinion tended in a certain direction. +At other times he was lavish in his use of complimentary +adjectives concerning every one he +wrote about, from the Mayor to the town crier. +No wonder he was popular.</p> + +<p>The notes which appeared in the <i>Guardian</i> +during its reporter's holiday were from another +hand, but Henry looked forward with pleasure to +reading Trevor's contributions when his mighty +pen was at work again. It is one of the strangest +experiences that comes to the writing man—this +interest of the layman in anyone who writes +words that are printed. We seldom feel interested +in the personality of the man who made our +watch, but the fellow who wrote the report of the +tea-meeting we attended last week—ah, there's +something to stir the blood!</p> + +<p>Now that they had met, these two, Henry was +throbbing with excitement to hear what his new +friend had to tell him of life and its wonders. +Nor was Trevor loth to unclench his soul to the +youth.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, London's the place," he observed to +Henry as he dug his teeth into a juicy tart—one +of many received that day in Henry's weekly +hamper from home. "London's the place! Just +fancy, I saw the huge building of the <i>Morning</i> +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 58]</span> +<i>Sunburst</i>, Johnnies at the door in livery, hundreds +of people running out and in; and the chap that +edits that paper used to be a fifteen-bob-a-week +reporter on that rag the <i>Stratford Times</i>, which +isn't a patch on the <i>Guardian</i>."</p> + +<p>"He must be very clever."</p> + +<p>"Clever! Bless you, they reckoned him mighty +small beer in Stratford," pursued the lively Trevor, +helping himself to a third tart from Henry's +store. "Then there's Wilkins of the <i>Pictorial +Globe</i>, a glorious crib—fifteen hundred a year, I'll +bet. He used to run that rocky little rag-bag +the <i>Arden Advertiser</i>. You should see his office +in the Strand. By gum—a palace, my boy, a +palace!"</p> + +<p>"But perhaps he knows all about pictures."</p> + +<p>"Pictures! He doesn't know a wall-poster from +a Joshua Reynolds!"</p> + +<p>"Then how do they get these grand situations?"</p> + +<p>"How do they get 'em! Luck, my boy. But, +I say, your mater knows how to make ripping +good fruit-cakes."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you like them," said Henry, but his +thoughts were far away, where Luck the Goddess +reigned. "And do you intend to go to London +some day—to stay, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"As likely as not. My time will come, ha, ha! +as the heavy villain hath it. Everybody gets his +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 59]</span> +chance, don't you know. For all that, there's +many a jolly good journalist never gets a show +in Fleet Street. But what's the row?" he +exclaimed abruptly, as the noise of hurrying feet +and the sound of a policeman's whistle rang out +in the evening quiet.</p> + +<p>Stepping to the window, he saw the hand-pump +and hose being wheeled along the street from the +police station across the way, and a crowd of +youngsters running after it.</p> + +<p>"A fire!" he exclaimed. "I must look slippy, +by Jingo! Come along with me. There's ten +bob of lineage in this if I'm first on the spot, +and it's a decent blaze. Worth while living near +the station."</p> + +<p>He had his hat on his head in a jiffy, and +Henry hurried with him, intent on seeing the +journalist at work. The fire proved to be at a +brewery, and did considerable damage before it +was got under. In the excitement of the scene +Henry lost his friend, who flitted from point to +point gleaning information, and looking quite +the most important figure present. He had got +ahead of Griffin, the <i>Times</i> reporter; his ten +shillings for duplicating reports to the daily +papers seemed likely enough. They were as +good as spent already—a new hat for one thing, +and some new neckties for another. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 60]</span></p> + +<p>The effect of the episode on Henry was fateful. +He had been present throughout the scene, he +had seen the frightened horses being rescued from +the flaming stable, and had read about it all to +the extent of twenty lines in next morning's +<i>Birmingham Gazette</i>—twenty glowing lines from +the pencil of Mr. Trevor Smith—twenty lines +in which the "conflagration" burned again.</p> + +<p>He had tasted blood. This was better fun +than idling the hours away with Mr. Ephraim +Griggs. The Temple of Literature had been a +disappointment.</p> + +<p>Here was Life. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_61" id="Pg_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>IN WHICH HENRY DECIDES</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">Up</span> to the night of the fire, Henry had only been +dreaming of what he wished to do in the world of +work. Unless one of his age has had his fate +sharply settled for him by being placed at some +trade or profession—for which he is usually unsuited—by +the masterful action of his parents, he has, +at best, a nebulous vision of the path he will +pursue.</p> + +<p>With natural instinct, and aided by the accident +of Edward John's business relations in Stratford, +Henry had looked to literature through the gateway +of the book-shop—of all, the most unlikely. But +he had been shorn speedily of his illusions in that +quarter.</p> + +<p>A month in the establishment of Mr. Ephraim +Griggs had left him wondering if he were a footstep +nearer his goal than he had been before he bade +farewell to Hampton. If the Temple of Literature +which he had builded in his brain had not exactly +crumbled into nothingness, it was no longer possible +to rub shoulders with the slatternly Griggs and the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 62]</span> +insipid Pemble, and still to dream dreams such as +had held his mind when he determined to fare +forth an adventurer into the unknown realms of +Bookland.</p> + +<p>The weeks dragged on wearily. So rude had +been Henry's experience of the second-hand book-shop, +in disgust he had almost concluded that +after all there was as much glory in his father's +business as in that of Mr. Griggs. Trevor Smith, +however, had appeared on the scene at an opportune +moment, and sent his thoughts off at a tangent.</p> + +<p>Clearly, journalism was the high road to literature. +It enabled one to get into print, and that, at least, +was a great matter.</p> + +<p>Already the agreeable Trevor could pose as +Henry's literary godfather. He had allowed him +to write one or two simple notes about the visit +of a circus to the town and the annual flower-show, +and these had actually appeared in type in +the <i>Guardian</i>.</p> + +<p>The fact that Trevor had twice borrowed half-a-crown +from his fellow-lodger, and had twenty times +forgotten to repay, while he had also assimilated +innumerable examples of Mrs. Charles's baking, had +probably something to do with his readiness in +opening his columns to the youth. But that did +not in the least detract from the bursting joy with +which Henry read his own little paragraphs a score +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 63]</span> +of times; nor did Edward John suspect that the +first appearance of his young hopeful in the +splendour of print was due to such adventitious +aid.</p> + +<p>Henry's masterpiece was a letter to the editor of +the <i>Guardian</i> protesting against the charge of +sixpence exacted for admission to view the grave +of Shakespeare. This was signed "Thespian," at +the suggestion of Trevor, who never by any chance +wrote of actors or of the theatre, but always of "sons +of Thespis," or of "the temple of Thespis." Quite a +lively correspondence ensued in the columns of the +paper, and it was a great delight to Henry that he +and Trevor Smith alone knew who the correspondents +were. Between them they did it all. Oh, Henry +was learning what journalism meant!</p> + +<p>"Take my word for it, Henry, journalism's your +game," his merry mentor assured him. "That last +par of yours about the Christ Church muffin-struggle +is nearly as good as I could have done myself. +You're cut out for a journalist as sure as eggs is +eggs. All that you want is an opportunity to show +what's in you."</p> + +<p>Yes, only the opportunity was awanting. And +how to get it?</p> + +<p>"Look at me," Mr. Trevor Smith continued, "I +was only a common clerk in the <i>Guardian</i> office—a +common clerk, mind you—but I had the sense to +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 64]</span> +learn shorthand, and got the first opening as a +reporter—and here I am!"</p> + +<p>He helped himself to a luscious pear from the stock +which Henry had just received from home that day.</p> + +<p>Indeed, these little bursts of confidence usually +took place on the evening Henry's weekly hamper +arrived, but he had never noticed the coincidence. +A year or two later, perhaps, he might suspect there +had been some connection between the events; +meanwhile, his bump of observation had not been +abnormally developed.</p> + +<p>To-night the reporter appeared especially concerned +for the welfare of his young friend, and it occurred +to him to ask if Henry had been trying his hand at +something more ambitious than mere paragraphs. +He blushingly admitted that he had.</p> + +<p>"Then trot it out, my boy, and I'll tell you what +it's worth in a couple of ticks," said Trevor, quite +unconcerned as to the length or character of Henry's +"something."</p> + +<p>It is Nature's way that the rawest youths and +maidens who desire to follow a literary career +invariably commence by writing essays on aspects +of life which world-worn men of fifty find impossible +to discuss with any approach to ripened knowledge. +Henry's unpublished manuscript now brought forth +of his trunk proved to be a very long and absurdly +grandiloquent essay on "Liberty." +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 65]</span></p> + +<p>Neither the subject nor the wordiness of the +manuscript dismayed the hopeful Trevor, who took +it in his hand and ran his eyes with lightning +rapidity over page after page.</p> + +<p>"Ripping, my boy, ripping! That's the sort of +stuff to make the critics sit up."</p> + +<p>Henry thrilled and reddened, but winced a +little when he heard his handiwork described as +"stuff."</p> + +<p>"Really? Do you think anybody would care to +publish it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Just the sort o' thing for the <i>Nineteenth Century</i> +or the <i>Quarterly</i>," Trevor assured him gaily, although +the rascal had never set eyes on either of these +reviews. "But I should hold it back a bit until you +have made your name, for the editors of these things +never give an unknown man a chance."</p> + +<p>"Still, you think I ought to persevere?"</p> + +<p>"Don't I just! I couldn't have written stuff like +that at your age for a mint of money. Take my +tip, young 'un, you've got it in you to make a name; +and when you're riding down Fleet Street in your +carriage and pair, don't forget your humble servant +who gave you the first leg-up. That phrase of yours +on the last page about liberty being born among the +stars and flying earthward to brighten all mankind +is worthy of Carlyle at his best."</p> + +<p>"I always liked Carlyle; but I'll try very hard to +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 66]</span> +do something even better—I mean better than what +I've written."</p> + +<p>"And, by-the-by, my dear Henry, do you think +you could stretch me another half-crown? I'm +rather rocky just now, but am expecting a tidy +sum for lineage next week," said Trevor, in an +off-hand way, and ignoring his friend's confusion, +as he lifted his hat and prepared to go out.</p> + +<p>Henry stretched the half-crown—with difficulty, +for it meant a week's pocket-money—and when his +companion had left he executed a wild dance round +the table. Ambition had been fired within him +again. He determined that not even the Slough +of Despond, to which he likened the shop of Mr. +Griggs, would discourage him for a day in his +onward march to that City Beautiful where one's +life was spent in writing fine thoughts for mankind +to read and remember.</p> + +<p>The difficulty remained: how to get the opportunity? +All the copy-book maxims of his boyhood +availed him nothing; all the stories of brave men +who seized opportunity instead of waiting for it to +turn up, inspired, encouraged, whispered of hope, but +did not bring the situation to a simpler issue.</p> + +<p>Soon after this evening he determined to induce +Trevor to come down from his gorgeous generalisings +to plain facts.</p> + +<p>"It is all very well to say my essay is so good, but +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 67]</span> +do you honestly think I should go on writing things +like that if I wish to become a journalist?"</p> + +<p>It took something out of Henry to put it so +bluntly. Despite the familiar manner in which +Trevor addressed him, the youth, who was naturally +reticent, always spoke of him with deference due to +one of older years, and especially to one who was a +real live journalist. Henry, however, was gradually +losing his country shyness, and the fact that Mr. +Trevor Smith continued in his debt to the extent +of seven-and-sixpence encouraged him to greater +boldness in his dealings with that slippery gentleman.</p> + +<p>"I confess that I have had enough of old Griggs. +There is nothing to learn from him, and I do think +I should like to get work on a newspaper. Is there +any chance of an opening on the <i>Guardian</i> at +Wheelton? I have been pegging in at my shorthand +for the last three weeks, you know."</p> + +<p>"Well, since you put it that way, and since you +seem to be dead set on giving old Griggs the slip, +there is one thing you could do," Trevor admitted, +now that he had been asked to come down to hard +facts.</p> + +<p>"What is that?" asked Henry eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Get your gov'nor to shell out to old Spring, +and he'll take you on like a shot."</p> + +<p>"Shell out?" said Henry, evidently not alive to +Trevor's slang. "What do you mean?" +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 68]</span></p> + +<p>"Why," returned his professional adviser, with +a smile at the rustic ignorance, "haven't you seen +advertisements in the daily papers something like +this: 'The editor of a well-known provincial +weekly has an opening for journalistic pupil. +Moderate premium. Small salary after first six +months'? There's your opportunity."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I see the idea," said Henry, upon whom +a light had dawned.</p> + +<p>"What do you say to that?" Trevor pursued.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that might do, and no doubt dad would +'shell out,' as you call it. But is there any such +vacancy at present?"</p> + +<p>"If there isn't, the Balmy One—that's another +of our pet names for Old Springthorpe, the +editor—will jolly soon make one, provided your +pater is ready with the dibs. Write your +gov'nor about it, and if he's open to spring +twenty-five golden quid, leave the rest to me."</p> + +<p>To Henry the suggestion seemed a good one, +and he wondered that he had waited so long +before getting Trevor to bring the situation to +so practical an issue. The fact was, Mr. Smith +rather liked the fun of patronising the youth, to +say nothing of his share in the weekly hamper, +and Henry's willingness to render slight but +useful assistance by attending an occasional +meeting on his behalf. Accordingly, he had +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 69]</span> +not been anxious to lose his company too +soon.</p> + +<p>To Edward John Charles his son's letter, with +its bold proposal, came with somewhat of surprise. +It had never occurred to him to couple the Press +with "Literatoor," but he said at once that if +Henry felt journalism was good enough for him, +why, he would help him to become an editor with +as much pleasure as he would have set him up +in the egg-and-butter trade, had he been so +minded.</p> + +<p>Within a week the postmaster took another +journey to Stratford, and thence by train to +Wheelton, together with Henry, to interview Mr. +Martin Springthorpe, editor of the <i>Wheelton +Guardian</i>, to whom Mr. Charles carried a letter +of introduction from Trevor Smith, wherein that +gentleman averred he had taken great personal +interest in the literary work of Henry Charles, +and had even been able to make use of sundry +items from his pen. He commended him to Mr. +Springthorpe's best consideration.</p> + +<p>Trevor had also taken the trouble to write +privily to his chief, saying that he thought Mr. +Charles would come down to the tune of five-and-twenty +pounds, and not to frighten him off +by asking more. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_70" id="Pg_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>WHICH INTRODUCES AN EDITOR</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">Wheelton</span>, an industrial town of some importance, +lies less than an hour's journey by rail from Stratford. +It is not exactly a home of learning, nor has it given +any distinguished men to literature or science, but +it boasts four weekly newspapers and a small daily +sheet, which would appear to be more than the +inhabitants require in the shape of local reading +matter, for, with one exception, the newspapers of +the town have a hard struggle for existence.</p> + +<p>At the time when Henry Charles and his father +made their first journey thither the journalistic +conditions were not quite so straitened, as the +evening paper and one of the weeklies had not +come to increase competition; but even then the +<i>Guardian</i> was the least successful of the three.</p> + +<p>The office of Mr. Springthorpe's journal was +situated up a flight of narrow stairs, the shop on +the street front having been let to a pork-butcher +for the sake of the rent. On the first floor were +the editor's room, the reporters' room, and another +small apartment that served as the general office, +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 71]</span> +and contained a staff of one weedy young man +with downy side-whiskers, and a perky little office +boy.</p> + +<p>Up a further crazy stair the composing-room +was reached, and here five men and several boys +put into type what was sent from the rooms below. +The printing was done in premises on the ground +floor behind the pork-butcher's, extended by the +addition of a rather rickety wooden outbuilding. +By no means an establishment to impress a visitor +with the importance of the journal here produced, +or to give a beginner any exaggerated idea of the +dignity of journalism. Still, the massive gilt letters +proclaiming <span class="smcap">The Guardian</span> above the pork-butcher's +had the power to make Henry's blood +tingle when first he saw them.</p> + +<p>Up the stair he followed his father, with much +fluttering of the heart, but reassured by the confident +and cheerful look on the face of Edward +John, who went about the business as outwardly +calm as if he were buying a fresh stock of +stationery.</p> + +<p>The office-boy showed the visitors into a room +to the left of the counter, on the door of which the +pregnant word <span class="smcap">Editor</span>, printed in bold letters on +a slip of paper, had been pasted but recently, +judging by its cleanness, as contrasted with the +soiled appearance of everything else. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 72]</span></p> + +<p>The editor's room was plainly furnished, not to +say shabbily, despite the fact that it figured +frequently in the <i>Guardian</i> gossip columns under +the attractive title of "The Sanctum." In the +middle of the floor stood a large writing-table, from +which the leather covering had peeled off, exposing +the wood beneath like a plane tree with its bark +half-shed. On the table lay, in picturesque confusion, +bundles of galley-slips, clippings from +newspapers, sheets of "copy" paper, all partially +secured in their positions by small slabs of lead as +paper-weights.</p> + +<p>The waste-paper basket to the left of the table +had overflowed, and the floor around was strewn +with cut newspapers and crumpled sheets of manuscript. +On the walls hung two large maps, one +showing the railways of England and the other +the Midland counties. Above the fireplace a +printer's calendar was nailed. Three soiled and +battered haircloth chairs completed the furniture of +the room when we have added a damaged arm-chair, +cushioned with a pile of old papers. This was +the editor's chair. Its intrinsic value was probably +half-a-crown, but to the regular readers of +the <i>Guardian</i> it must have seemed as priceless +as the gold stool of Ashanti, for they were +accustomed to read two columns every week +headed "From the Editor's Chair." +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 73]</span></p> + +<p>The short, thick-set person, with the slightly +bald head and distinctly red nose above a heavy +black moustache, which trailed its way down each +side of a clean-shaven chin and drooped over into +space, was the editor himself. With a briar pipe, +burnt at one side, stuck in his mouth, and puffing +vigorously, he sat there in his shirt sleeves, and +his pen flew swiftly over the sheets of paper that +lay before him.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Charles and his son entered, the +editor laid down his pipe and pen, and rising +from his chair, said in the most affable way:</p> + +<p>"Ah, I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Charles; +and this is your son Henry, of whose ability I +have already heard."</p> + +<p>Shaking hands with each, he pointed them to +seats and resumed his own.</p> + +<p>"So Henry is ambitious of embarking on a +journalistic career," he remarked, as he lifted his +pipe again; adding, "I hope you don't mind my +smoking. I find a weed a great incentive to +thought."</p> + +<p>Mr. Springthorpe always spoke like a leading +article, and it was noticed by those who knew +him best that on the occasions when his nose was +particularly ruddy and his utterance somewhat +thick, his flow of language and the stateliness +of his words were even more marked than when +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 74]</span> +one could not detect the odour of the tap-room +in his vicinity.</p> + +<p>"Yes, 'Enry is anxious to get on a noospaper," +Mr. Charles replied. "And Mr. Trevor Smith has +written this letter about him for you to read."</p> + +<p>The editor reached out and took the letter with +a great show of interest, reading it carefully, as +though it were a document of much importance, +while Henry sat fumbling with his hat, conscious +that he had again arrived at a critical moment in +his career.</p> + +<p>"This is very nattering indeed, Mr. Charles," +said the editor at length, "and I attach great +weight to the opinion of Mr. Trevor Smith, who +is an able and promising member of my staff."</p> + +<p>"Then you think that 'Enry might suit you?"</p> + +<p>"I have little doubt that he would prove a +worthy addition to the ranks of journalism, and +if I had any urgent need of a new member on +my reportorial staff, I should willingly offer him +an engagement. But, as I think I explained to +you in my letter, I have not at present any +pressing need for literary assistance."</p> + +<p>Henry's face clouded as he listened, but +brightened the next instant, when Mr. Springthorpe +continued:</p> + +<p>"It would, however, be a pity not to hold out +the hand of encouragement to so bright a young +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 75]</span> +man as your son, and I should be delighted to +have the privilege of initiating him into the +mysteries of newspaper work if you are prepared +to pay a premium, and to let him serve the +first six months without salary."</p> + +<p>"There need be no difficulty about that," said +Mr. Charles, "and I am prepared to pay you now +a reasonable sum for any trouble you will take +with him. How much would you expect?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it all depends. I have had pupils who +have paid as much as a hundred pounds." +Edward John sighed, and Henry felt a tightening +at the throat. "Fifty is what I usually expect." +The visitors breathed more freely. "But I feel +that in Henry we have a young man of peculiar +aptitude, who would soon make himself a useful +colleague of my other assistants; and that being +so, I should be content with half the amount."</p> + +<p>"That's a bargain, then," said Mr. Charles, +entirely relieved, as he took out his cheque-book +and filled up a cheque in favour of Mr. Martin +Springthorpe for twenty-five pounds. "Of course, +I s'pose you give 'im a salary after the first six +months," he added, when he handed the cheque to +the editor.</p> + +<p>"I shall be only too happy to adequately +remunerate his services when the period of +probation is terminated," Mr. Springthorpe assured +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 76]</span> +him, placing the precious paper carefully in his +pocket-book.</p> + +<p>"And when would you like me to begin, sir?" +asked Henry, who had scarcely opened his mouth +since entering the room, the editor's shrewd eye +for character, together with Mr. Trevor Smith's +valuable testimonial, being all that Mr. Springthorpe +had whereby to arrive at his flattering +estimate of the young man's brightness and +peculiar aptitude for journalism.</p> + +<p>"Let me see, now—this is the 18th of July. +Suppose we say that you commence your duties +here on Monday, the 25th. How would that suit +you?"</p> + +<p>"That would fit in nicely, 'Enry, my lad, +wouldn't it?" said Mr. Charles.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said the new reporter to the chief, +who had been bought with a price. "I could +start on that day, as there is nothing to keep me +at Stratford."</p> + +<p>"Do you know anything of shorthand?" the +editor asked, as an afterthought.</p> + +<p>"A little, sir; and I am studying it every night +just now."</p> + +<p>"That's right, my boy, wire in at your shorthand; +a reporter is of little use without that +accomplishment. To one of your ability it will +be easy to acquire. I picked it up myself in a +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 77]</span> +fortnight, and even now, although I seldom use +it, I could still take my turn at a verbatim with +the best of them."</p> + +<p>The great business completed, Mr. Charles and +his son set out to look for lodgings for Henry, +being recommended to the mother of one of the +other reporters, who let apartments.</p> + +<p>On the way back to Stratford, after having settled +this little matter, Edward John waxed as enthusiastic +as his son in picturing the possibilities which he had +thus opened up for Henry. "Tis money makes the +mare to go, my lad," he said. "Five-and-twenty +pounds is a goodish bit out o' my savings, but I've +always said you'd 'ave your chance, no matter what +it cost me."</p> + +<p>"I hope that I'll be able to prove the money +hasn't been wasted, dad."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure o' that, 'Enry—if you only wire in at +your work and show the editor the stuff that's in +you. Just fancy what old Miffin and the others will +say when they 'ear that 'Enry Chawles is a reporter +on the <i>Guardian</i>!"</p> + +<p>"I mean to study very hard, get up my shorthand, +and to write as much as ever I can when I join the +staff. But of course I shan't stay in Wheelton all +my life. There's better papers than the <i>Guardian</i>, +you know."</p> + +<p>"That's the true spirit, lad; always look ahead. If +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 78]</span> +I hadn't been looking ahead all these years, where +would the twenty-five pounds ha' come from, and +the money that's to keep you for the next six +months?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know what could have been +done without it. I don't think opportunities are as +plentiful as we are told."</p> + +<p>Henry had learned a little since that day he rode +to Stratford with the carrier.</p> + +<p>"Didn't think much of the office, though. Did +you, 'Enry?"</p> + +<p>"No," he admitted somewhat unwillingly, "it +wasn't so fine as I had expected; but perhaps it +is as good as they need."</p> + +<p>"And nobody needs anythink better than that," +which summed up in a sentence Edward John's +philosophy of life and the secret of his financial +soundness.</p> + +<p>The few days remaining to Henry in Stratford +went past all too slowly, despite the jubilation of Mr. +Trevor Smith at the success of his promising <i>protégé</i>, +and Henry's application to the study of shorthand, +with which most of his time at the book-shop had +been occupied of late. Mr. Griggs and Pemble he +left without a pang, the former still concerned about +his poultry, and the latter still cultivating his +moustache; but he was sorry to say good-bye to +Mrs. Filbert and the irrepressible Trevor, who would +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 79]</span> +have made the success of his proposal an excuse to +borrow a fourth half-crown, were it not that the +memory of the unpaid three had better not be +reawakened when Henry was going away.</p> + +<p>His journey to Wheelton found him with hopes +scarcely so high as those he had cherished on his +way to Stratford some three months before, but +he was at least fortified with some measure of that +common sense which only rises in the mind as the +illusions of youth begin to sink.</p> + +<p>It was not thought necessary for him to revisit +Hampton Bagot before removing to Wheelton—his +face was still turned away from home. Thus far he +had been marking time merely; but now he was on +the march in earnest. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_80" id="Pg_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>AMONG NEW FRIENDS</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">Saturday</span>, the 23rd of July, will always +remain a red-letter day in the history of Henry +Charles. Even at this distance of time he could +doubtless recall every feature of the day as the +train that carried him steamed into the station. +The languorous atmosphere of a hot summer afternoon, +the steady drizzle of warm rain, the flood of +water around a gutter-grating in Main Street, caused +by a collection of straw and rotten leaves—even that +will always appear when a vision of the day arises +before his memory. The station platform had been +freshly strewn with sawdust on account of the +weather, and the pungent smell of that is not +forgotten. Thus it is that the commonest features +of our surroundings, noted under exceptional circumstances, +are automatically registered for ever by our +senses.</p> + +<p>Edgar Winton, the reporter at whose home Henry +was to lodge, had undertaken to meet his new +colleague at the station, and pilot him to the house. +But by some mischance he was not there, and the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 81]</span> +young adventurer stood for a moment lonely and +disappointed, while the train in which he had +travelled continued on its journey.</p> + +<p>His belongings, however, were not embarrassing, +and for all his fragile looks Henry was still robust +as any country lad. Nor did his sense of dignity +come between him and the shouldering of his load +up the steep and shabby main street of the town, +and along sundry shabbier by-streets to the semi-genteel +district of Woodland Road, where at +No. 29 was the home of the Wintons.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Winton seemed to be as amiable a landlady +as good Mrs. Filbert, and more refined. Henry felt +at once that so far as home-life was concerned his +lines had fallen again in pleasant places. He had +now risen to the dignity of a separate room, small +indeed, and almost crowded with the single iron +bedstead, the tiny dressing-table and chair, which, +together with a few faded chromographs on the walls, +made up its entire furnishing. It was on the second +storey of the house, which had only two flats, and +looked across a kitchen-garden to the back of a row +of still smaller houses. By way of wardrobe accommodation, +the back of the door was generously +studded with hooks for hanging clothes. For the +privilege of sleeping here Edward John had agreed +to pay on behalf of his son the weekly sum of four +shillings, and Mrs. Winton was to cook such food +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 82]</span> +as Henry required, charging only the market +prices.</p> + +<p>As it was late afternoon when Henry had reached +his lodging, and Edgar was expected home for tea +at five o'clock, Mrs. Winton's new guest, after a +somewhat perfunctory toilet, descended to the +parlour to await the coming of his fellow-worker. +A copy of the <i>Guardian</i> for that week lay on the +easy chair in which the landlady asked Henry to +rest himself, and he was presently reading with +close attention the weighty observations of his +future chief, who spoke "From the Editor's Chair" +like any pope <i>ex cathedra</i>.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Winton having removed the vase of dusty +"everlasting flowers," which stood <i>solus</i> in the middle +of the faded green serge cloth that covered the +oval table, and spread on the latter a cloth of +snowy linen, busied herself in arranging the tea +things.</p> + +<p>Henry noted that cups and saucers were set for +five, and as he only knew of four in the household, +including Edgar's father and himself, he fell to +wondering who the fifth might be. Undoubtedly +his powers of observation had been sharpened from +contact with the Stratford representative of the +<i>Guardian</i>.</p> + +<p>The preparations for the evening meal had just +been completed when the outer door was opened, +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 83]</span> +and Edgar, a fresh-complexioned young fellow of +nineteen, arrived, full of apologies for having been +unable to meet his guest, as he had been unexpectedly +called upon to attend an inquest at the +"Crown" Inn.</p> + +<p>"And an interesting case it is, by Jove!" he +exclaimed brightly. "A man has shuffled off this +mortal coil by—what d'you think?"</p> + +<p>"Poison or a razor," suggested Henry, out of the +fulness of his knowledge of poor humanity.</p> + +<p>"Nothing so common for Johnnie Briggs the +bookie. Everybody knows Johnnie, and he meant +to make a noise when he snuffed out. Up to the +eyes in debt, I fancy. He has choked himself with +a leather boot-lace, and Wiggins in the High Street +is as proud as Punch because it was one of his +laces. Isn't it funny?"</p> + +<p>"It's very horrible," said Henry, who could not +help showing in his looks the feeling of disgust +aroused within him by Edgar's levity in speaking +of so bad an occurrence.</p> + +<p>"Horrible! Why, I think it's stunning, and old +Spring will be as mad as a march hare because +Johnnie didn't perform his dramatic exit in time +for this week's edition of the <i>Guardian</i>. The +<i>Advertiser</i> will be out next Wednesday with full +details, and we don't appear till Friday. It's +always the way; that Wednesday rag gets all the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 84]</span> +spicy bits. But there, don't let us start talking +shop all at once. I'm famished. How are you?"</p> + +<p>But before Henry could describe his condition, a +bright young woman of some eighteen years had +entered the parlour, to be introduced unceremoniously +as "My sister Flo—Mr. Henry Charles."</p> + +<p>Here, then, was number five, and a very acceptable +tea-table companion, thought Henry, though the +blushing and mumbling with which he said how +pleased he was to meet her showed him to be as +awkward in the presence of the fair sex as he was +new to the jargon of journalism. He dared hardly +lift his eyes to look the new-comer in the face, but +on her part there was no evidence of shyness.</p> + +<p>Over the tea-cups—for Mr. and Mrs. Winton had +now come in, and all were seated at the table—Henry +began to feel more at home among the +family, and Mr. Winton proved to be a quiet, homely +person, though Henry noticed that Edgar lost to +some extent his high spirits when his father came +on the scene. Evidently the Wintons were people +"in reduced circumstances," for both the father and +mother showed signs of superior breeding.</p> + +<p>"I hope you will get on all right at the <i>Guardian</i>," +Mr. Winton remarked. "You won't be short of +work, if Edgar is a sample. He's always slogging +away at something. If it's not the police courts, +it's a political meeting, or a—" +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 85]</span></p> + +<p>"Tea-fight, dad."</p> + +<p>"Slang again, Eddie," put in Flo.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Edgar delights in these flippancies; his +trade seems to induce that," said Mrs. Winton. +"Will you pass your cup, Mr. Charles?"</p> + +<p>As Henry handed his cup to Flo, almost dropping +it in the excitement of being dubbed "Mister," Edgar +took up his mother's words, and exclaimed, with +simulated indignation:</p> + +<p>"Trade! Who calls it a trade? Remember, +mater, that journalism is a profession—the Fourth +Estate!"</p> + +<p>"There's not much profession about attending +inquests on suicides, and writing about the drunks +and disorderlies," Flo remarked, fearless of her +brother's displeasure.</p> + +<p>"Come, come now," interposed Mr. Winton, who +had not spoken since Edgar broke in upon his +remarks. "You mustn't give our young friend too +low an opinion of his new business," and turning +to Henry, he remarked: "It is your first appointment, +is it not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have only done some odds and ends for +the <i>Guardian</i> when at Stratford. Of course, I'm +hoping to do some good work here, but we must do +the small things before we are able to do the great +ones, I think."</p> + +<p>A long speech for Henry to make before +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 86]</span> +company, and not performed without an +effort.</p> + +<p>"True, indeed, for only those who can do the little +things well can do the great things well," was Mr. +Winton's comment.</p> + +<p>"And I was only joking," added Flo, looking +archly at Henry, whose eyes immediately contemplated +the lessening liquid in his cup. "Journalism +is all very well, I'm sure, but newspaper fellows are +so conceited that I think we need to take some of +the side off them."</p> + +<p>"Who's talking slang now?" from Edgar.</p> + +<p>"Well, it may be slangy, but it's true; and I hope +Mr. Charles won't fall into the habit of talking as if, +because a man writes paragraphs in a printed paper, +he knows more than Solomon."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I know very little, Miss Winton. I'm +here to learn." Oh, Henry was becoming quite a +tea-table success.</p> + +<p>"And I'm sure we hope you will find your new +work up to your expectations. I have never met +Mr. Springthorpe myself," said Mr. Winton, as he +rose and retired to the living-room, which was +half-kitchen, to smoke his evening pipe, while Flo +helped her mother to clear away the tea-things +and restore the dusty immortelles to their place +of honour.</p> + +<p>"The dad says he has never met Mr. Springthorpe, +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 87]</span> +and a good thing for his idea of journalism. Not +that old Spring doesn't strike you well enough +at first meeting; but you'll soon find him out," +Edgar said to Henry when they were alone in +the parlour.</p> + +<p>"He seemed very considerate, I thought, when +my father and I called on him. A little pompous, +perhaps."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you've noticed that! You'll see more of it +by-and-by. But he can be wonderfully considerate +when there is a nice little premium attached to a +new pupil. Your pater must have come down +handsome on the spot, for the Balmy One has +been swaggering around in a new frock-suit and +shiny topper since you were engaged. Let me +be frank with you, and tell you at once that you +needn't expect anything of value out of our gorgeous +chief. What you learn you'll have to pick up +from Bertram and myself, and from Yardley the +sub."</p> + +<p>"I understood that I was really Mr. Springthorpe's +pupil."</p> + +<p>"You're not the first that understood that; but +really it doesn't matter, for you'll get there all the +same, as they say in the song. You'll have lots to +do and you'll soon learn, but don't fancy old Spring +is going to sit down and teach you. His duty ends +when he converts your premium into clothing for the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 88]</span> +outer, and refreshment for the inner man. A good +sort, but fond o' the bottle, like so many clever +journalists."</p> + +<p>"And were you a pupil also before you became +a full reporter?"</p> + +<p>"Not on the <i>Guardian</i>. I served six months as a +junior on the <i>Advertiser</i>, and received the order of +the sack at the end of that time, as they had no +further use for services which had begun to require a +weekly fifteen bob. Luckily, the <i>Guardian</i> was in a +hole at the time, both the chief reporter and his +assistant having given notice, and the pupil then +flourishing was a hopeless youngster, who has since +returned to the business of his father, who is in the +aerated water trade. So I was engaged at once, and +on the noble salary of fifteen bob a week I remain to +this day, although I was promised an increase at the +end of twelve months, and I have been on the staff +for sixteen. I occasionally pick up a bit of lineage, +and that helps to pan out, you know; but I'm only +hanging on until something better turns up elsewhere, +and then good-bye to the <i>Guardian</i>. My +ambition is Birmingham."</p> + +<p>"Birmingham! Wouldn't you rather like to get to +London?"</p> + +<p>"Who wouldn't? But I have the sense to know +I'm not cut out for Fleet Street. In any case, no +London editor would look at a man from Wheelton. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 89]</span> +You must have experience on a good provincial +daily before thinking of London Town."</p> + +<p>"I'm surprised, for Mr. Trevor Smith told me of +many London editors who used to be on local papers +like—our own."</p> + +<p>"Trevor Smith is an ass. He knows as much +about journalism as a monkey knows of algebra. +He can't write for nuts. Most of his copy has to +be rewritten by Yardley before it's fit to print."</p> + +<p>Henry heard this unflattering description of his +friend with some dismay, but remembered that +Trevor had given him a very similar account of +Edgar. He was beginning to know something of +that brotherly feeling which always exists between +fellow-craftsmen.</p> + +<p>Winton showed himself very companionable, and +in the evening took Henry for a walk round the +town, in the course of which they visited the police +station, where he was introduced as "the new +<i>Guardian</i> man." This connection between the Press +and the Police was one to which Henry would yet +learn to attach much importance.</p> + +<p>On the Sunday he attended church with Mr. +Winton and Edgar in the morning, and would have +gone again in the evening if Edgar and his father +had been so disposed, but it seemed to be the rule +of the house for the female side to attend the evening +service, as in the morning they were engaged in +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 90]</span> +household duties. Edgar confessed to Henry that +he didn't reckon much of church-going, and only +went to please the dad. He further avowed that +he thought religion a lot of rot, and that most +journalists were atheists. He had heard that +George Augustus Sala believed in eternal punishment, +but that was about all the religion he knew +of among knights of the pen.</p> + +<p>Henry, who had been reared in the quiet atmosphere +of a church-loving home, and had never +listened to doubts about religion, heard Edgar's +opinions with some dismay, but did not venture +to dispute them. He had an uneasy feeling that +the more he saw of men the less they justified his +ideals, and he began to wonder whether, if he had +to let slip his illusions of daily life, he would not +also have to modify his religious convictions.</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_91" id="Pg_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>THE YOUNG JOURNALIST</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">With</span> the morning, however, Henry was fresh for +the fray again. The prospects of his first day in +active journalism swept away all doubts and +misgivings.</p> + +<p>Edgar having to attend the Monday police court, +which was always fat with drunks and wife-beaters, +Henry was left to make his way to the <i>Guardian</i> +office himself.</p> + +<p>On his arrival there he found the office-boy +descending the stairs by using the railing as a slide, +at the end of which he fell somewhat heavily on the +door-mat, but picked himself up and smiled at Henry +in proof that no bones were broken. Upstairs, the +weedy young man with downy whiskers, who bore +on his narrow shoulders the full weight of the +<i>Guardian's</i> commercial affairs, was at work on the +morning's letters. He looked up as Henry entered, +and inquired his business.</p> + +<p>"Is Mr. Springthorpe in?" the new reporter +asked.</p> + +<p>The clerk was surprised for a moment to hear +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 92]</span> +the editor's name mentioned thus early in the day. +Then he answered:</p> + +<p>"No, he is rather irregular in his hours. He +may not arrive till eleven or twelve to-day!"</p> + +<p>"It's only ten o'clock now," said Henry, as +though he were thinking aloud. He would never +try to play Monte Cristo again, and Winton had +told him that Mr. Springthorpe was never assiduous +in his office attendance.</p> + +<p>"But I expect Mr. Yardley soon," the clerk +continued. "Are you Mr. Charles?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Shall I go to the reporters' room?"</p> + +<p>The clerk opened the door for him, and he +entered on the scene of his future labours. A long +table of plain wood, cut and hacked by knives on +the edges, stood in the centre of the floor, and +around it were four cane-chairs, all of different shapes. +The floor was covered by worn-out oilcloth, the +walls were dingy, the ceilings blistered like a water-biscuit. +A single gasalier, carrying two burners, +hung from the roof and served to light the table, on +which lay a few bundles of copy-paper, two ink-pots, +and some pens. The only other furniture in the +room was a small bookcase half-filled with volumes, +most of which were tattered, and some without +binding, having reached that condition, not so much +from frequent reference as from occasional use in +a game wherein the reportorial staff tried to keep +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 93]</span> +two books flying round the room from hand to +hand without falling—a game that was never +successful. A bundle of unopened newspapers, in +postal wrappers, lay at the window-end of the +table, and also a few letters.</p> + +<p>Presently the door was opened and Mr. Wilfrid +Yardley, sub-editor, stepped in. He was a man +of sallow complexion, with very black hair and +dark, restless eyes that suggested worry. He wore +a light yellowish summer suit and a straw hat. +For a moment he paused on seeing Henry, who, +as he entered, was examining the literary treasures +in the bookcase.</p> + +<p>"Good morning!" he said. "You are Mr. Charles, +I suppose?" and he held out his hand to Henry. +"You are early. The reporters have no hours. +I'm the only one on the literary staff who is +chained to the desk."</p> + +<p>He took off his hat and jacket, exchanging the +latter for a ragged thing that hung on one of the +pegs along the wall. Then he seated himself at +the end of the table, and commenced opening the +newspapers that lay there. All the while his eyes +flitted about in his head as if he feared that someone +would pounce on him unawares. Evidently a +quiet fellow and a conscientious worker, but a trifle +too nervous to have much character.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Springthorpe has not fixed any work for +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 94]</span> +you?" he said to Henry, with questioning eyebrows, +while slitting an envelope.</p> + +<p>"No, nothing has been arranged. I suppose +I'm to do anything that turns up."</p> + +<p>"Bertram—that is our chief reporter—will want +you to help him, I suppose. But I'm sure I could +do with assistance. You can't learn too much, +however, so just try your hand here," and he +marked several items in a daily paper referring +to happenings in the Midland counties. "Try to +rewrite those pars, keeping in all the facts, but +only using about one-third of the space in each +case. Sit down in that chair there, and perhaps +you'll find a pen that suits you among those, +though I never can."</p> + +<p>Henry acquitted himself very well according to +Mr. Yardley, and found the latter so considerate +in his advice that he immediately conceived a +liking for him.</p> + +<p>After all, Trevor Smith and Edgar Winton were +raw youths, but here was a man of thirty-five at +least, and there was no "side" about him. He +seemed capable and intelligent. Why, then, did +he stick in Wheelton? Would Henry only reach +a similar post when he was his age? These +thoughts came to him as he watched the earnest +face of Yardley poring over reporters' copy, +"licking it into shape," sucking the while at his +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 95]</span> +briar pipe. Such thoughts are not pleasant, but +they must come to every youth who aspires to +make a success of life, and they will for a moment +damp his enthusiasm, unless he has the perception +which tells him that no two men's careers are +alike, and that every man carries within himself the +qualities that make for success or failure. But +Yardley may not have thought himself a failure, +and there's the rub.</p> + +<p>When the editor arrived he showed no overweening +interest in Henry, but warmly commended +him for the work he had done under the subeditor's +eye, and urged him to make the most +of his opportunities, without telling him how. +Undoubtedly Winton had described the situation +accurately to Henry—Mr. Springthorpe's interest +ended when he pocketed the premium.</p> + +<p>Bertram, the chief reporter, proved to be a +person with distinct family resemblance to Trevor +Smith, and was probably about twenty-eight years +of age. He shared the editor's weakness for looking +upon the wine when it is red, but always managed +to get through the work required of him. Without +possessing qualities of the slightest distinction, he +had achieved a reputation in various newspaper +offices as "a clever fellow if he'd only keep +straight."</p> + +<p>This is, perhaps, not peculiar to journalism, and +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 96]</span> +if we inquire into the characters of many who are +reputed to be exceptionally endowed, but imperil +their success by unsteady habits, we shall find that +in most cases their abilities are below the average +of the steady plodder, who is seldom described as +clever, simply because the shadow of unsteadiness +never falls on his life as a background for the +better display of such qualities as he possesses. +The fact is, that your "clever fellow if he'd only +keep sober" is a very ordinary fellow, whose ever-changing +employers are apt to over-estimate his +abilities during a decent spell of sobriety.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It is doubtful if it would be to the advantage of +our story to dwell at any length on the next few +months of Henry's life. The newspaper office in +which he found himself was typical of hundreds in +the English provinces, no better nor worse. The +existence of the <i>Guardian</i> was one constant struggle +to increase a small circulation and add to the +advertising revenue of the paper. To the latter +end the services of the reporters were frequently +required, and puffs of tradesmen had to be written +whenever there was a chance of securing thereby +a new advertisement. All the petty details of local +life had to be reported at great length, even to the +wedding presents received by the daughter of an +undertaker in a small way of business. These were +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 97]</span> +actually displayed with the names of their donors +in separate lines, following the report of the marriage +ceremony, which included a full description of the +bride's dress, with the name of the local dressmaker +who had made it.</p> + +<p>The pettiness of it all was rudely borne in upon +the young reporter when it came to his knowledge +that the item—"Purse from Servant of Bride's +Mother"—represented an expenditure of eleven-pence +three-farthings on the part of a faithful +domestic thirteen years of age.</p> + +<p>As an off-set against these experiences, Henry +had made one great upward move. In a moment +of audacity, which he must recall with wonder, he +ventured to write a leading article and to swagger +the editorial "we." It so happened that when he +presented this to the editor, that worthy, having +had a bibulous week and being short of copy, +pronounced it good, and printed it with a few +alterations. As it was Mr. Springthorpe's aim to +do a minimum of work each week, he generously +encouraged the youth to further editorial effort, with +the result that Henry "we'd" pretty frequently in +the leading columns of the <i>Guardian</i>. He was the +first "pupil" who had ever shown any marked +ability, and Springthorpe was secretly proud of +him.</p> + +<p>As the six months wore away, Henry began to +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 98]</span> +hope that he might be added to the permanent +staff, but neither Bertram nor Edgar showed signs +of departing, and the prospects of his receiving a +salaried position remained low. To the surprise of +his colleagues, however, and against all precedent, +he was not ejected at the end of his six months, +but actually received a salary of half-a-guinea a +week, accompanied, however, by the information +that he would do well to look elsewhere for a +situation at his leisure.</p> + +<p>Now commenced a strenuous time of replying to +advertisements in the <i>Daily News</i>. For a while never +a sign came back from those doves of his which went +forth trembling, but in the spring of the year after +his going to Wheelton, there came a reply from +the manager of one of the two daily papers at the +large and important Midland town of Laysford, +asking Henry to come and see him with reference +to his application for the post of editorial assistant.</p> + +<p>The plan of submitting specimens of his work, +backed by an eloquent testimonial from Mr. +Springthorpe, had at length succeeded, and to the +amazement of the staff, Henry returned from the +interview entitled to regard himself as assistant +editor of the <i>Laysford Leader</i>. To this day the +event is talked of at the office of the <i>Guardian</i>, +but it is never recorded that important factors in +bringing it about were the pressing need of the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 99]</span> +<i>Leader</i> to have a new assistant at a week's notice, +and the growing desire of Mr. Springthorpe to save +half-a-guinea on the weekly expenses of the +<i>Guardian</i>. Moreover, Henry had named a salary +five shillings less than the only other likely +candidate.</p> + +<p>From such sordid circumstances do events of +life-importance spring.</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_100" id="Pg_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>WHAT THE NECKTIE TOLD</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">The</span> grey-blue reek of Hampton Bagot is curling +up into the azure sky. From the hill on which +the church stands the little village lies snug like +a bead on a chain—the London Road—in a jewel-case +of billowy satin: green Ardenshire. A haunt +of ancient peace this August day. The only noises +are the pleasant rattle of a reaping-machine and +the musical tinkle of an anvil, while now and again +the petulant ring of a cyclist's bell reaches the ear +of the lounger on the hill, and thrills some honest +cottager with the hope that the ringer may rest at +her house for tea.</p> + +<p>The faint sound of a far whistle reminds us +that time has passed since we last stood in +Hampton's one street: a mile and a half away, +the station, which is to advertise the name of the +village to travelling humanity for ever, has been +finished, and several times each day trains to and +from Birmingham condescend to pause in their +puffing progress at the tiny platform. But most of +them go squealing through, indignant at finding +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 101]</span> +such a contemptible little station on <i>their</i> line. The +stationmaster-porter-ticket-collector and his junior +are not overworked—or else they could not play so +long with the latter's terrier, who is the liveliest +member of the staff. But there are a few tickets +to be taken every day, a few carriage-doors to be +shut, a few whistles to blow, a few throbs of +importance for the young official.</p> + +<p>We know of one passenger who is to arrive +this Saturday afternoon; at least, they are expecting +him at Hampton Bagot.</p> + +<p>The station has made no difference to the village. +Certainly none to the figure at the Post Office door. +The smile might have been registered, the tilt of +the coat-tails patented. Edward John Charles has +not altered a hair, although it is almost six years +since we last saw him wagging his tails here.</p> + +<p>"You're expectin' 'im 'ome to-day, Ed'ard John, +I 'ear," the inefficient Miffin observes as he crosses +to the Charles establishment for an ounce of shag.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and about time, I think. Why, he ain't +been through this door for two year, and last time +'e could on'y stay four days."</p> + +<p>"In moi opinion, them youths what goes to the +cities learns to despise their 'umble 'omes," Miffin +commented, with a sad fall of the eyes. "Now, if +I 'ad a son 'e'd 'ave to stay at 'ome, and take up +'is fether's trade." +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 102]</span></p> + +<p>"But you ain't got a son, Miffin, and that's all +the difference. If there was a young Miffin, why, +you're just the man to ha' been proud o' 'im makin' +'is way in the world. Mind you, Hampton ain't +the on'y place under the sun."</p> + +<p>"It'll be strange for 'Enry to come to the station," +said Miffin, adroitly diverting the drift of the talk; +for he was touchy on the subject of children, +being as discontented because he had none as +most of the village folk were because they had so +many.</p> + +<p>"He says it's going to bring 'im often back to +us, and I believe he means it."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's to be 'oped 'e'll never regret leavin' +'ome," was the last croak of the gloomy tailor, as +he rammed home a charge of shag into his burnt +cherry-wood pipe with his claw-like forefinger, and +stepped back to his flat irons.</p> + +<p>Edward John chuckled contentedly. Miffin was +a constant entertainment to him. He had a +suspicion that the tailor had been appointed by +Providence to prevent his becoming unduly puffed +up about his talented son.</p> + +<p>Just in time for tea, the subject of their conversation +jumped down from the butcher's gig in +which he had travelled from the station. His +father welcomed him with a sedate shake of the +hand; his sisters three ran to him and were +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 103]</span> +shyly kissed. How our sisters shoot straight into +womanhood with the gathering up of their back +hair and the lengthening of their frocks! A +brotherly kiss after two years to a sister who +may have another young man to kiss her, produces +shyness in the least self-conscious of young men.</p> + +<p>In the parlour Henry found his mother, still the +timid, withered little woman he had always known +her, busy setting the tea, her curl-papers still eloquent +of her household toils. He was conscious of the +curl-papers for the first time as he kissed her +dry lips. The near view of the papers offended +some new feeling within him. He was strangely +tempted to pluck them out.</p> + +<p>There was a great change to be noted in the +appearance of the only Henry. It was four years +since he had left Wheelton, almost six since he +went away to Stratford, and Laysford especially +stamps its character on its residents.</p> + +<p>"Bless me, 'Enry, but you're growing all to legs, +like a young colt," his father remarked, as he +seated himself and took a smiling survey of his +son, who was given the honour of the arm-chair; +a fact that marked another stage in his upward +career. "All to legs, my boy!"</p> + +<p>"But there's lots of time to fill out yet, dad. +I weigh ten stone eleven."</p> + +<p>"Mostly bones, eh?" +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 104]</span></p> + +<p>"But I feel all right."</p> + +<p>"You look it, my lad; and between you an' I, +I'd rather have your bones than my beef!"</p> + +<p>"I hope you have always remembered to wear +flannel next your skin, Henry?" his mother +ventured to ask, in the hilarious moment which +her husband was enjoying as the meed of his +merry thought.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm all right, mother! Don't worry about +me. Wear flannel next the skin, drink cod-liver +oil like water, and am never without a chest-protector +on the hottest day."</p> + +<p>His sisters laughed, but doubted their ears. +Henry had never been jocular. Evidently the +neat cut of his summer suit, the elegant tie, were +not the only things Laysford had endowed him +with.</p> + +<p>"Your mother always was coddling you up as a +boy. She forgets that you're a man now. Why, +your moustache is big enough for a Frenchie. Don't +it get into the tea? I never could abide a moustache. +It's one of they furrin ideas."</p> + +<p>"My moustache is rather admired, dad," said +Henry brightly, glancing slily at his sisters.</p> + +<p>"Hark at the lad.... By whom?"</p> + +<p>"Ladies ... perhaps!"</p> + +<p>Oh, Henry, you might have broken it more +gently! Edward John smiled and called him "a +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 105]</span> +young dog"; his mother's face clouded for a +moment, and brightened; the girls understood—at +least Dora, who was nineteen, and Kit, who was +two years younger, understood—and laughed. Milly +was only a maiden of bashful fifteen.</p> + +<p>"It's simply wonnerful, 'Enry, how you've +smartened up since you were 'ome two years ago. +Your second two years have done more for you +than the first," said Edward John, buttering his +bread at the tea-table.</p> + +<p>"Glad you think so, dad. But I say, mother, +it's funny to be buttering my own bread again; I +haven't buttered any since I was at home last."</p> + +<p>"When I was in London I never buttered a bit. +All done for you. Wonnerful how they encourage +laziness in the city." Edward John had need to +remind them that he had been to London; for +Henry had actually spent two summer holidays +there instead of coming to Hampton, and the +glory of his father's visit was in danger of being +tarnished.</p> + +<p>"Still thinking o' going to London some day +for good, I suppose?" he went on.</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course; but the fact is that the more I +learn of journalism the more difficult London seems. +It is all plain sailing at eighteen; but at twenty-two +... well, I'm just beginning to think I'm not +a heaven-born genius, dad." +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 106]</span></p> + +<p>"But it ain't what you think about yourself that +matters."</p> + +<p>"That's just what does matter—in journalism. I've +learned one great thing since leaving home. The +world takes a man pretty much at his own valuation. +A fool who takes himself seriously is like to be taken +seriously by other fools, and you know how many +fools there are in England according to Carlyle."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, if you are a fool, try it," retorted +the postmaster merrily.</p> + +<p>"But a wise man, who thinks himself a fool, is +likely to be thought a fool by—"</p> + +<p>"Wise men?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps by them also; but certainly by the +fools, who are in the majority."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, my lad! Was it for this I paid that +Springthorpe fellow five-and-twenty pounds?"</p> + +<p>"Henry's only joking, dad," Dora suggested. +Her sense of humour was not magnetic.</p> + +<p>"A jest in earnest, Dora; for the more one learns +the less one knows."</p> + +<p>An amazing fellow: a veritable changeling this +Henry! His mother watched him almost like a +stranger.</p> + +<p>"Rank heresy, now, you're talking. I wunner +what old Mr. Needham would say to that?" +exclaimed his father, who had a fear that his son +had grown a trifle conceited. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 107]</span></p> + +<p>"That I had learned a lot since you wanted him +to tackle me on Virgil. But I like my work for all +that; in fact, because of it. It is about the only +kind of work in which one is learning every day; +and I'm beginning to think that the real fun of life +is not the knowledge of things so much as the +getting to know them."</p> + +<p>"Well, look 'ere, 'Enry. You're dragging your +poor old father out into deep waters, an' you know +he can't swim. You're talking like one of your +articles. For I read 'em all that you mark with +blue pencil, and your mother keeps 'em, even when +she's hard up for paper to light the fire."</p> + +<p>Henry wondered in his heart if, at a pinch, she +would have used one for her curl-papers. He +noticed just then, for the first time in his life, that +the parlour of his old home was very small; the +ceiling was so low that he found himself almost +choking for breath when he looked up.</p> + +<p>Dora and her mother were clearing away the +tea-dishes, and Henry went upstairs to the bedroom +where he would sleep with his father. The old +nest had altered in a hundred ways, although none +but Henry knew that. He had once been a bird +of the brood here, but he had taken wings away, +and to return for a fortnight once in two years +was only to realise how far his wings had carried +him. Henry had been born here, the people that +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 108]</span> +he loved the best of all were still living here in +the old home—his old home. Yet it could never +be anything but his <i>old</i> home now. We talk about +returning home; but really we never do so. Once +we leave the home of our boyhood and youth, we +never return again. It is seldom we wish to go +back to the old life; and when the wish is there, +Fate is usually against its fulfilment.</p> + +<p>Henry Charles had certainly altered in a bewildering +variety of ways since we first made his +acquaintance. Then a tall, sallow youth of sixteen, +ungainly in limb and not well-featured, his nose +unshapely, his mouth too large, but a pair of dark +eyes gleaming with spirit to light up the homeliness +of the face. Now, a man—oh, the few short years, +the tiny bridge across the chasm, the bridge we never +pass again!—a man: tall as a dragoon, leggy, it is +true, as the shrewd eye of his father had judged; +but no longer thin to veritable lantern jaws, rather +a promise of ample fleshing, and a nose that had +sharpened itself into an organ not uncomely of +outline. This changing of the nose is one of the +most curious of our few tadpole resemblances. His +mouth might still be large, but a glossy moustache +hides many an anti-Cupid pair of lips, which a few +passes of the razor would unmask to set the dear +boy flying. Henry's hair was raven black and +ample—perilously near to disaster for a hero. But +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 109]</span> +we must have the truth in this narrative, cost what +it may.</p> + +<p>As he stood in the bedroom, brushing his hair +and bending carefully to avoid knocking his head +against the ceiling, which sloped steeply to the +dormer window, where stood the looking-glass on its +old mahogany table with the white linen cover, Henry +presented the picture of a wholesome young +Englishman, proud of brain rather than muscle, +and differing therein from the ruck of his fellows, +but joining hands with them again in the careful +touch to his hair, the neat collar, the pretty necktie.</p> + +<p>Now, the moment a young man begins to look +to his neckties, unless he is a mere dude, there is a +reason for it. Henry Charles was impossible miles +from dudeism; <i>ergo</i>, there was a reason for his +lingering at the looking-glass.</p> + +<p>He had been slower than the average young man +to awaken to the fact that for most male beings +still unmated, there is some young lady deeply +interested in his neckties and the cut of his coat. +But he had awakened, and now the difficulty was +to know which young lady: there seemed to be so +many in Laysford who took an interest in the clever +young assistant editor of the <i>Leader</i>. To be on the +safe side, it was well to be observant of the sartorial +conventions, even while in the inner recesses of the +literary mind disdaining them. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 110]</span></p> + +<p>That is Henry's state of mind when we see him +after tea at the mirror in the camceiled bedroom. If +it surprises you, remember that it is four years +since you met him last, and many things can happen +in that time. How do we know what has happened +to him? His necktie tells us something, doesn't it? +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_111" id="Pg_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>VIOLET EYES</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">When</span> Henry was seated alongside the carrier that +fateful morning long ago—Henry, you must be +more than twenty-two!—he had to pass the cottage +of old Carne the sexton, and a sweet face, jewelled +with a pair of violet eyes, looked out between the +curtains, a girl's hand rattled on the window-pane. +The owner of these eyes had been playing with +a caterpillar when Henry went round the village +telling everybody he met that he was going away +to Stratford—her among the rest. But surely that +was ages ago! "I could never have been such a +young ass," Henry would say to a certainty if you +were to ask him at the mirror.</p> + +<p>Well, here is Eunice Lyndon in proof of the +fact that it was almost six years since. At all events, +she says she is just nineteen, and she was thirteen +then. She doesn't play with caterpillars now; but +her eyes are certainly violet, though Henry probably +thought they were blue, if he thought of them at +all.</p> + +<p>The six years have wrought wonders in the girl +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 112]</span> +who rattled on the window when Henry went forth +to the fray.</p> + +<p>For one thing, Eunice, who was the chum of Dora, +and thus a frequent visitor in the Charles household, +had discredited the croakers by continuing +to live and even to strengthen, despite the fact of +her mother's consumptive end. Poor Mrs. Charles, +who had seldom a chance of opening her mouth +on any topic, never avoided stating, as an article +of her faith, that all children of consumptive parents +were doomed as clearly as though their sentence +had been passed by a hanging judge. It was positively +an insult to her and to many another anxious +mother for the progeny of consumptive parents to +go on living. For such to wax strong was against +Nature, and in the teeth of medical experience.</p> + +<p>Eunice had offended Nature, diddled the doctors, +and looked all the better for the offence. The pasty +whiteness of her girlhood had given place to a +creamy freshness, which blended perfectly with her +high colour—so you see her red cheeks were not +the flame of consumption, but the bloom of health. +Her colour was of that intensity which seems to +come from the atmosphere around the face, and to +shine upon the skin as a shaft of ruby light, carried +by the sunbeams through a cathedral window, glows +on a marble statue.</p> + +<p>Her features were pretty, but with no mere +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 113]</span> +prettiness. They were marked by character. The +nose would have been a despised model for a +Grecian; the mouth not dollishly small, yet small, +firm-set, the firmness being saved from shrewish +suggestion by an upward ending of the lips. Eunice +had a chin; a most essential quality in man and +woman, sometimes unhappily omitted. A chin that +said: "Yes, I mean what I say; and I mean to +say what I mean." Eyes that—well, they were +violet eyes, and what more can one say? A +forehead not high, but wide, to carry a wealth +of lustrous dark hair.</p> + +<p>Eunice was no Diana in stature, for she had +scarcely grown an inch in all those years since we +saw her with the caterpillar. She had sprung up +suddenly as a girl, and remained at the same +height for womanhood to clothe her. Perhaps five +feet four. But do not let us condescend upon such +details. She was small, she was dainty; enough +is said. Violet eyes—more than enough!</p> + +<p>It is not to be supposed that Eunice and Henry +had ever been sweethearts. That is altogether too +rude a suggestion. What does a girl of thirteen +think of sweethearts? A lad of sixteen? They +pick up the conventional phrase, with its suggestion +of friendship more intimate than everyday acquaintance, +from their elders; that is all. There may +possibly be a liking for each other, a liking more +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 114]</span> +than for any other playmates. That is rare. The +most that could be guessed about Eunice and +Henry before his leaving home was that he had +been more inclined to talk with her than with +any other girls who came to the house, and as +he, in his cubhood, had a sniff of contempt for +most girls, that counted for very little. Perhaps, +on second thoughts, it might be held to count for +a good deal.</p> + +<p>When Henry had been home two summers ago, +Eunice was away on one of her rare visits to an +aunt in Tewksbury—in a sense, at the world's end. +So Henry had rarely seen her since that peep she +took at him long ago in Memoryland. He had +heard of her frequently, we will suppose, in the +letters from his sister Dora, and she of him from +her chum.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, an important event had happened in +her life. Old Edgar Carne, Eunice's grandfather, +had died a year ago, and left his orphan grand-daughter +at eighteen with the tiniest little fortune, +equal to probably twenty pounds a year. For a +time it seemed likely that she would leave the +village and go to reside with her aunt at Tewksbury, +as she had now no blood relations in +Hampton Bagot, though many warm-hearted +friends. Simple in her tastes, educated only to +the extent of a village curriculum, which did not +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 115]</span> +breed ambition, fond of domestic duties and the +light work of a garden, Eunice had no clear-cut +path ahead, and would have preferred to stay on +among the people who had been planted around +her by the hand of friendship.</p> + +<p>It so fell out that Fate pinned her to Hampton +yet awhile. The housekeeper of the Rev. Godfrey +Needham had left, and it was suggested to him +by Mr. Charles that Eunice and a young serving-maid +would do wonders in brightening up the +vicarage, where an elderly housekeeper had only +fostered frowsiness. Besides, the vicar had recently +to the amazement of his parishioners, taken a little +lass of nine to live with him, the orphan child of +a relation of his long-dead wife. Eunice could +thus be of double service to him in mothering +the little one, and her sympathy could be relied +upon, since she herself had been robbed of a +mother's love so early. It was even whispered +that the coming of little Marjorie had something +to do with the old housekeeper giving notice to +leave; she was "no hand wi' childer," as she +herself confessed.</p> + +<p>Mr. Needham fell in with Edward John's +proposal; Eunice was delighted; and a year had +testified to its wisdom. The vicarage had never +been so bright in the memory of the oldest +inhabitant, the vicar himself had come under the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 116]</span> +transforming hand of Eunice, and now, within hail +of seventy, he was a sprucer figure than he had +been since the days of his brief married happiness—forty +years before. His collars were always +spotless, his white ties—white. His trousers +reached to his shoes at last. Perhaps his step +had lost its springiness, his coat its breezy freedom; +but he had gained in dignity what was lost in +quaintness.</p> + +<p>As for Eunice herself, this one short year had +carried her well into womanhood, and though +only nineteen she was the counsellor of many who +were older. There is a wonderful reserve of +domestic gold in every young woman whose bank +is run upon. At an age when a young man is +watching his moustache's progress, many a young +woman is grappling heroically, obscurely, with the +essential things of life. Yet Eunice was doing no +more than thousands of womenkind had done.</p> + +<p>But her position as housekeeper at the vicarage, +as teacher in the Sunday School, conferred certain +advantages, and brought her more prominently into +the life of the little village. From being "Old +Carne's little girl," she had been translated into +"Miss Lyndon at the vicarage." Her daily +pursuits, the refining influence of her duties, +quickly developed and ripened her own excellent +qualities of heart and mind, and in twelve fleeting +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 117]</span> +months she stood forth a woman; discreet of +tongue, yet bright with happiness, resourceful, +heart-free.</p> + +<p>Henry noted, with a thrilling interest he could +scarce account for, these changes in his little friend +of long ago, when she came under his eyes again +at church on the Sunday following his arrival.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Miss Lyndon?" and "How +are you, Mr. Charles? It seems a lifetime since +you went away," did not suggest the sputtering +fires of kindling passion.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it takes an effort of mind sometimes to +recall my Hampton days." One was almost +suspicious of affectation.</p> + +<p>"Really! That's scarcely kind to Hampton and—us."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I am not likely to forget old friends; but +I mean that the years of almost changeless life +here are only the impression of a morning sky, +compared with the crowded day that has followed."</p> + +<p>Was the suspicion well founded?</p> + +<p>"Then you've been bitten by the dog Town, and +go hunting for a hair of him!"</p> + +<p>Eunice smiled at her conceit, and Henry laughed +with rising eyebrows, that said: "This young lady +has improved wonderfully."</p> + +<p>"Good, Eunice; very good! You have a turn +for metaphor, I see." The "Eunice" slipped out, +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 118]</span> +and immediately brought a deeper tinge of colour +to the girl's cheek. The man was sallow, but his +eyes looked away from her after it was out. "Do +you read much, or are your duties at the vicarage +engrossing?" was said with an air of friendly +interest only.</p> + +<p>"Engrossing, yes. You see, I've to play little +mother. One of my charges is ten and the other +nearly seventy. So I feel a centenarian. But I +don't get much time for reading, what with visiting +in the parish and keeping the vicarage in order. +No; I'm not a bit clever, and I have only a dark +idea of what a metaphor is."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you should tell that to the marines," was +all that Henry could say by way of comment.</p> + +<p>He had made obvious conversational progress +in the outer world, but there was an artificial +touch about his talk—a literary touch—that was +not quite equal to his swimming dolphin-like, in +a sea of talk, around this child of Nature.</p> + +<p>"You are liking Laysford, I hear," the little +mother said, after some paces in silence.</p> + +<p>"Immensely! The place teems with life. You've +just to stir it and behold a boiling pot of human +interest."</p> + +<p>"And how is the stirring done?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, there you have me! That's the worst of +metaphors. I must rid myself of the habit; it +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 119]</span> +comes, I fancy, of too much Meredith on an +empty head."</p> + +<p>"Dear me! And what is Meredith?"</p> + +<p>"It is a man that writes things."</p> + +<p>"Like you?"</p> + +<p>"Not like me, I hope. He writes for all time; +I for an hour—literally. But don't let's talk of +writing. There are greater things to do in this +world. Unless one were a Meredith."</p> + +<p>"You didn't always think so."</p> + +<p>"No; but I've learned young, and that's a good +thing. When I read Meredith I hide my face at +the thought of writing anything. But you've +done very well, so far, without books, if I'm to +believe your own story."</p> + +<p>"I suppose folk lived before printing was +invented?"</p> + +<p>"I used to wonder how they did; but now I +am willing to believe it possible."</p> + +<p>"You will come and see Mr. Needham at the +vicarage, while you are here, I hope? He often +talks about you."</p> + +<p>"I shall be delighted.... And you? You will +give us a peep at the old house?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! Dora and I are bosom friends."</p> + +<p>"Early next week you can look for me to have +a chat with ... Mr. Needham."</p> + +<p>"I'll be in soon ... to see Dora." +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 120]</span></p> + +<p>They shook hands at the field path to the +vicarage, and Eunice went up the hill hand-in-hand +with Marjorie, whom Henry had never +deigned to notice. She looked back when a +few hundred yards had been covered, but the +young man was stepping briskly after his father +and his two younger sisters, who had gone +ahead.</p> + +<p>"How Eunice Lyndon has improved," said +Henry to Dora when they sat at dinner.</p> + +<p>"Isn't she bright? I think she is the sweetest +girl I know."</p> + +<p>"But you don't know many, Dora."</p> + +<p>"She's made a wonnerful change on the passon. +An' it was all my own idea," Edward John +declared with satisfaction, as he scooped up a +mouthful of green peas with his knife.</p> + +<p>"Her mother—poor thing—died o' consumption," +Mrs. Charles remarked, and sighed as though she +were placing a wreath on Eunice's coffin.</p> + +<p>"But she's the very picture of health, mother," +Henry protested.</p> + +<p>"Still, there's consumption in the family," she +murmured.</p> + +<p>"Nothing to do with her case. Doctors are +now giving up the idea that the disease is +hereditary," Henry said, with unnecessary emphasis, +as it seemed to Edward John. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 121]</span></p> + +<p>"But doctors don't know everythink, 'Enry, +my boy," his father remarked.</p> + +<p>"And neither do mothers."</p> + +<p>Whereat one of them sighed again.</p> + +<p>The meal went on in silence for a while, and +the pudding was at vanishing point when Henry +broke into talk again.</p> + +<p>"By the way, Dora, did I ever tell you that +the Wintons have come to Laysford? You +remember them? My old friends at Wheelton."</p> + +<p>"You never mentioned it."</p> + +<p>"Funny that I had forgotten. Edgar joined the +<i>Leader</i> nearly six months ago as second reporter, +and the whole family have removed to Laysford, +when Mr. Winton got a post as cashier in a +large hosiery factory."</p> + +<p>"There was a sister, I think?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; Flo—a jolly, dashing sort of girl."</p> + +<p>"Pretty?"</p> + +<p>"Extremely! One of your blonde beauties. +Almost as tall as I am, and nearly my age."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!"</p> + +<p>"A fine puddin', mother, but just a trifle too +many o' them sultanas," said Edward John.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Charles sighed once more. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_122" id="Pg_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>ONE'S FOLLY, ANOTHER'S OPPORTUNITY</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">When</span> Henry's holiday had ended and he stepped +once again into the outer darkness that lay beyond +Hampton Bagot, the words of his which kept +ringing like alarm-bells in the ears of his mother +and Dora were: "Flo—a jolly, dashing sort of +girl." They had been spoken once only; but that +was enough. The essential woman in his mother +and sister pounced on them like a cat on a mouse +peeping from its hole. They turned the phrase +over in their mind, put it away, took it down, +pecked at it; tossed it afar, and ran after it +forthwith, wishful to forget it, but unable to let +it go.</p> + +<p>It might mean much, it might mean nothing. +With some young men it would not have been +an excuse for a second thought, but Henry was +not like other young men. He was their Henry—or +rather, he had been; for Mrs. Charles now +watched him with something of that chagrin which +must arise in the maternal bosom of the hen that +has mothered a brood of ducklings when she sees +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 123]</span> +them going where she cannot follow. As for +Dora, she doubted if she had ever known this new +Henry who spoke easily of "Flo—a jolly, dashing +sort of girl."</p> + +<p>The phrase, careless and colloquial though it +was, had all the potency of the biograph to project +before the mind's eye of Mrs. Charles and of Dora +pictures of a young woman who stepped out, +smirked, disappeared, and came again in a new +dress to do many things they disliked.</p> + +<p>But it was not the same young woman that +both of them saw, and neither of them mentioned +her thoughts to the other. The figure which +flashed frequently on to the screen of his mother's +thoughts was that of a bold, designing creature—dangerously +attractive—whose purpose was to +entrap her Henry. Dora recognised her dressed +for another part, in which she displayed a +tendency to giggle and cast flattering eyes on a +gullible young man.</p> + +<p>Edward John saw nothing of this figure in the +fairy drama of his mind, where Henry always +moved close to the footlights and left the other +characters in the unillumined region of the stage.</p> + +<p>Henry had renewed his acquaintance with the +Rev. Godfrey Needham, whom he found still +swimming, though with weakening stroke, in his +sea of scrappy scholarship, rising manfully some +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 124]</span> +times on a fine billow of Latin, but spluttering a +moment later when he breasted a frothy wave of +French.</p> + +<p>"Ah, my dear Henry, toil on, plod on, and +remember always that <i>Hoffnung ist der Wanderstab +von der Wiege bis zum grabe</i>, which, as you have no +German, means that hope is the pilgrim's staff +from the cradle to the grave. We are all pilgrims—always +pilgrims—you in the sunshine, I in the +frost of life."</p> + +<p>This was his benediction; and somehow the +innocent vanity of the vicar's borrowed philosophy +no longer amused, but fingered tender cords in the +soul of the young man.</p> + +<p>Eunice, although she had met him several times +after that walk from the church, had never said +so much to him again; but "Shall we not see you +again for two years?" was spoken with a touch +of sadness which thrilled him into—"I shall hope +to see you often in the future."</p> + +<p>Miffin was alone among the village folk in his +opinion of the new Henry. The young man's +neat-fitting summer suit, his elegant necktie, even +his well-made boots annoyed that worthy by their +quiet advertisement of prosperity. He was one of +those who resented success in others, mainly +because he knew himself for a failure. Moreover, +no man is pleased to see his prophecies given the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 125]</span> +lie. The tailor still blandly assured his cronies +when they enlarged on the worldly progress of the +postmaster's son, that the rising tide of Henry's +affairs would yet turn. "Merk moi werds," said +he, "them young men what goes into City life +seldom do any good. They dress well, p'raps, +but there's a soight o' tailors in the big towns +as fail 'cause the loikes of 'Enry forgets to pay +'em."</p> + +<p>As for Henry himself, his brief reversion to the +home of his boyhood had struck a new note in +his life: a note that had only sounded falteringly +before, but now rang out clear, sharp, alarming. +The simple contentment which seemed to breathe +in this little village soothed and comforted him, +straight from the jangle of the great City, and he +felt for the first day or two as if he could submit +to have his wings clipped, and flutter away no +more.</p> + +<p>But soon the dulness of Hampton was the +impression which refused to leave the surface of +his thoughts, and he understood that, having +answered with a light heart to the bugle of the +town, he must continue in its fighting line though +the heart was heavier. Perhaps he knew in his +secret soul that this heaviness of heart followed +its opening to the imperious knock of Doubt. +But still he held fast to his cherished ambitions, +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 126]</span> +and was as eager again for the fray as the +morphomaniac for a new dose of his drug, though +it was with a gnawing sense of regret that he +journeyed back to Laysford.</p> + +<p>On his arrival there, Edgar Winton met him at +the station, evidently weighted with news. The +contrast between the two young men was more +real than apparent. When they first met at +Wheelton, Henry had presented the exterior of a +raw country lad, with an eye that had only +peeped at a tiny corner of life, and a knowledge +of journalism that was laughably little. Edgar, +on the other hand, had all the pert confidence of +the City youth and the quickly-gathered cynicism +of the young journalist. But there he had +remained, as so many do remain from twenty-one +to their last day, while the strain of seriousness in +the nature of Henry, and the richness of the virgin +soil in him for the City to plough, had produced +a growth of character which in the intervening +years had shot him far ahead of Edgar in every +respect.</p> + +<p>Whether Edgar's friendship for Henry sprang +from the true root of affection, or was merely the +outcome of a desire to stand well in the favour +of one whose friendship would be well worth +having from a business point of view, cannot be +stated with confidence, but there is a fair supposition +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 127]</span> +that it was of the latter quality, since natures +like Edgar's are seldom capable of true friendship, +though they boil and bubble with good fellowship +for all who are brought into relation with them. +Perhaps Edgar had learned at an early age the +knack of spotting "useful men to know," which +accounts for much in the success of those whose +endowments are meagre.</p> + +<p>In any case, the broad result was the same. +Henry and Edgar were friends, and if Henry had +long since concluded that Edgar was of the empty-headed, +rattling order of mankind, still he tolerated +him, if merely because he had been one of the +first designed by Fate to intimate association with +him when the life-battle began. He could even +have tolerated the suggestion of friendship between +Trevor Smith and himself for the same reason, +while knowing now in his heart that Trevor was +a humbug.</p> + +<p>The meeting between the two at the station was +very cordial, and Edgar let his imp of news leap +free to Henry, to work its wild way in his +mind.</p> + +<p>"You are just in the nick of time, and no mistake. +If I hadn't known you would be back +to-day, I should have wired you this morning—that +is, of course, if a telegram could get to that +benighted village of yours." +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 128]</span></p> + +<p>"The nick of time? Wire? What has +happened?"</p> + +<p>"A very great deal. Oh, we've had a nice +old kick-up at the <i>Leader</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Kick-up! Have Macgregor and Jones been +squabbling again?"</p> + +<p>"The fact is, Mac has had to resign; it only +took place last night, and we all suppose that you +will get the crib."</p> + +<p>"But surely Macgregor has not let one of these +wretched bickerings lead to his resignation?"</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, no! He has done a giddier thing +than that, and will clear out of Laysford like a +dog with its tail down. The fact is, he has been +caught cheating at cards at the Liberal Club, and +the <i>Leader</i> cannot afford to be edited by a cheat, +don't y' know."</p> + +<p>"What a fool the man has been; and yet something +of the kind was bound to happen. Many a +time his fondness for the card-playing gang at the +Club has meant double work for me."</p> + +<p>"That has been the joke since you went away, +as old Mac has come rushing into the office about +midnight, and vamped up a couple of leaders with +the aid of his scissors and the London dailies. +We heard Jones and he rowing about the character +of his stuff a week ago. It seems that Sir Henry +had complained." +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 129]</span></p> + +<p>"Well, I am heartily sorry for his wife and +family. I hope the affair may be patched up."</p> + +<p>"No fear of that. He has got to go with a +rush; and why should you be sorry if his shoes +are waiting for you?"</p> + +<p>"Still, I am sorry. As for the shoes, I hope +they won't lead my feet the same road."</p> + +<p>Just a touch of priggishness here; but remember, +Henry was young.</p> + +<p>Truly, this was startling news. Mr. Duncan +Macgregor, the editor of the <i>Leader</i>, was a journalist +of excellent parts; one who had held important +positions in London and the provinces, but whose +fondness for the whisky of his native land had +made his life a changeful one. For nearly five +years he had been jogging along pretty comfortably +in Laysford, to the great joy of his much-tried wife; +but his position as editor of the <i>Leader</i>, which +represented the dominant party in local politics, +made him much sought after by scheming public +men, and in the end brought his old weakness for +what is ironically called "social life" to the top.</p> + +<p>Duncan Macgregor, indeed, for nearly two years +had been scamping his duties, on the pretence +that by constant fraternising with the sportive +element of the Liberal Club he was representing +his paper in the quarter where its influence was of +most importance. He had even developed a new +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 130]</span> +enthusiasm for public life, and was scheming to +become a Justice of the Peace and to enter Laysford +Town Council. He had not been careful to +note that Mr. Wilfred Jones, the general manager +of the <i>Leader</i> Company, and a more important +person than the editor in the eyes of the shareholders, +considered that he was the natural figurehead +of the concern. Mr. Jones had been elected +to the magistrates' bench, and was a candidate for +the next municipal election, dreaming even of +venturing to contest one of the Parliamentary +divisions.</p> + +<p>As it was due to the acute management of Mr. +Jones that the <i>Leader</i> had been lifted from a +languishing condition to a state of financial prosperity, +and Sir Henry Field, the chairman of +directors, and the other shareholders, were now +enjoying an annual return for their money, it was +only natural that the general manager was a more +important person than the editor in their estimation. +He was certainly so in his own opinion, and +although a man of no intellectual attainments, he +did not hesitate on various occasions to dispute +with the editor about the quality of his leaders. +One of Duncan Macgregor's favourite stories of +these disputes related to his humorous use of the +phrase, "A nice derangement of epitaphs," which +Mr. Jones pointed out was sheer nonsense, as there +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 131]</span> +was not another word about epitaphs in the leader! +The manager had a suspicion that the editor had +been looking on the whisky when it was golden, +else he could not have written such twaddle. But +when it happened, as it did during Henry's absence, +that the leading articles were largely made up of +clippings from London newspapers, linked together +by a few words from the editor, Mr. Jones's criticism +was based on sounder grounds.</p> + +<p>Edgar accompanied Henry to his rooms, where +the news was discussed in all its aspects, and at +length Edgar gave him a jerky and stumbling invitation +to spend the evening at his home, on +the ground that Henry had always been a great +favourite of "the mater's," and she would like to +see him after his holiday.</p> + +<p>Now, the journalist who is engaged on a daily +paper has to turn the day upside down. He is +generally starting to his work when ordinary folk +are enjoying their hours of ease. Like the baker, +he sallies forth to his factory when the lamps are +glimmering; for the newspaper must accompany +the morning roll; but of the two, the printed sheet +is the less essential to life, and at a pinch would be +the first to go. To that extent the baker's business +is the more important. This was often a saddening +thought to Henry, when his eye caught the dusty +figures at work in an underground bakery which +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 132]</span> +he passed every evening on his way to the office. +The result of the daily journalist's topsy-turvy +life is practically to cut him off from social intercourse +with his fellow-men who are not engaged +in the same profession, and consequently he moves +in a narrow groove. Even his Sundays are not +sacred to him. There was a time when Henry +used to hurry from evening service to his desk +at the office, and set to work on a leader or +some editorial notes for Monday morning's paper. +Latterly he was always at his desk, but seldom +at the service. Arriving home at two or three +in the morning and sleeping until about noon does +not put a man into the mood for cultivating +friendships between two and eight p.m., supposing +there were friendships to be cultivated at such +absurd hours of the day.</p> + +<p>Thus Henry's life had been ordered since +coming to Laysford; his office and his bed eating +up the most of it; his afternoons being devoted +to a walk in the park, or research at the public +library and reading in his rooms. The only +house he had ever visited was that of the Wintons, +and there he had been but once on the journalist's +Sunday, <i>i.e.</i>, Saturday.</p> + +<p>It was true, no doubt, that Mrs. Winton thought +highly of him, and he respected her as a very +amiable landlady of past years. But Edgar could +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 133]</span> +have told him—and perhaps the affected suddenness +of the invitation did tell him—that it was not +the matronly Mrs. Winton who had suggested his +coming. Edgar had indeed been prompted by a +very broad hint from his sister, whose interest in +Henry had varied greatly from the first, but was +now rising with the prospect of his becoming a +full-fledged editor. Indeed, although there was +more that one young man in Wheelton whom Flo +had boasted to her girl friends of being able to +turn round her little finger, the prospects of a "good +match" in that limited sphere were not quite equal +to her desires, and she heartily seconded the proposal +to remove to Laysford. Henry had developed +in interest, and there were possibilities—who knew?</p> + +<p>There were many reasons why Henry would +have preferred to spend the evening in his own +rooms. The fragrance of Hampton came back to +him the moment that the train shot into Laysford, +with its din of busy life. The impression of +village dulness receded, and here, with the rattle +of Edgar's irresponsible tongue in his ears, and +the squalid story of his editor's downfall to occupy +his mind, he was fain to hark back again to the +memory of that quiet existence which he felt +doomed to renounce for ever. His worldly wisdom +told him he need not repine at Macgregor's folly, +since it brought Henry Charles his opportunity; +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 134]</span> +but the philosopher in him saw the situation +whole, and the squalid side of it could not be +ignored. As Edgar seemed bent on carrying him +off, and as he was not expected at the office +until the following day, he decided to accompany +young Winton to his home, hoping, perhaps, that +a careless evening would brighten his thoughts.</p> + +<p>The chattering streams of life flowing through +the main streets of the thronged city, the clatter +of the tramcars, and the thousand noises that +smote the ear fresh from the ancient peace of a +remote village, all frightened the mind back to +Hampton, the faces of his friends; and, oddly as +it seemed to Henry, the face that looked oftenest +into his was not one of his own home circle. None +of his womenkind had violet eyes.</p> + +<p>On reaching the house, Edgar had his usual +hunt for his latchkey, and whether it was the +murmur of his conversation with Henry during +the operation of finding the key and applying it, +or merely chance that had brought Flo in her +daintiest dress and archest smile into the hall as +the door was opened, cannot be well determined. +Certainly there was a look of delighted surprise +on her face when she exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mr. Charles, is it really you?" surrendering +him her hand, and allowing it to remain in his. +"When did you get back?"</p> +<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 135]</span> +"Only this evening," he replied, clearly conscious +that this was a most attractive young lady, and +not a little flattered at the warmth of her +reception. "I arrived at six o'clock."</p> + +<p>"How very good of you to come and see us +so soon! We ought to consider ourselves flattered."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I had nothing else to do," he murmured +ineptly, and was suddenly conscious that he still +held her hand. He dropped it awkwardly.</p> + +<p>"I am sure you must have many things to do—a +busy man like you."</p> + +<p>"It is seldom I have a free evening, so I am +glad to use this one in seeing my old friends." +He had recovered aplomb.</p> + +<p>"And your old friends are charmed to see you," +she returned, with a look that told she could +speak for one of them at least. "You are like +one of the wonders we read about but seldom see. +Edgar keeps us posted in news of you."</p> + +<p>She cast down her eyes coyly, as if a sudden +thought whispered that she had said too much, +and led the way to the little drawing-room, Henry +pleasantly thrilled with the charm of her voice +and the freedom of her greeting. But strangely +enough, another face which lingered in his memory +glowed there again, and the thought that came to +him was that its owner had not been half so +cordial in her welcome to him. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_136" id="Pg_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>"A JOLLY, DASHING SORT OF GIRL"</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">The</span> removing of the Wintons to Laysford had +been a distinct change for the better in the +fortunes of the family. Mr. Winton's situation +furnished him with a comfortable income, and +Edgar was now contributing appreciably to the +domestic funds, while Miss Winton's music-teaching +brought an acceptable addition beyond furnishing +her with an ample variety of dress, in which she +always displayed a bold, though a cultivated +taste.</p> + +<p>Their house was a great improvement on the +little home in which Henry had lodged six years +ago, though it was still a poor substitute for the +luxurious residence Mr. Winton had maintained +before his business failure, when Flo and Edgar +were children. The old horse-hair furniture had +disappeared from the dining-room, and in its +place stood an elegant leather suite. Henry would +find the former still doing duty in a room upstairs, +which Edgar called his study. The drawing-room +was the most notable indication of changed +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 137]</span> +fortunes, and bore many traces of Flo's adorning +hand, Edgar proudly drawing Henry's attention to +some of her paintings, and thus affording her +excellent excuse for becoming blushes.</p> + +<p>"Why, Henry, it is quite like old times to have +you among us again," said Mrs. Winton, when he +had entered the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>She retained the right to his Christian name, +although Flo, who had been in the habit of +addressing him familiarly at Wheelton, had +surrendered that, as Henry noticed, and was +annoyed at himself for noticing. Mr. Winton +joined in the welcome, and Henry expressed +his pleasure to be among them again.</p> + +<p>"I need not ask whether you had a good time +while you were away," Mr. Winton continued. +"You are looking extremely well; brown as a +berry."</p> + +<p>"Quite like a gipsy," suggested Flo, and she +decided at that moment that she had always +entertained a distinct preference for the Romany +type of manly beauty.</p> + +<p>It was not altogether to her mind that the +conversation swiftly drifted into the uninteresting +channels of public life in Laysford, touching even +the state of the hosiery trade, in which Mr. +Winton was engaged. At the tea-table, however, +Flo had Henry by her side, and made the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 138]</span> +talking pace with some spirit and, it must be +granted, vivacity.</p> + +<p>It is the most natural thing in the world for a +young gentleman visitor at a small family table like +the Wintons' to be placed alongside the daughter +of the household, but there are young ladies who +contrive to make the most natural situation seem +exceptional. Perhaps Miss Winton was one of these, +as Henry felt when he sat down that the arrangement +had more of artifice than nature in it. But while +having the sense to suspect this, he was rather +flattered than otherwise in his suspicion, and as with +most young men of his age, a show of friendliness +from a young lady reached home to that piece of +vanity which we all have somewhere concealed, and +sometimes, maybe, not even hidden.</p> + +<p>He noticed in a sidelong glance, and possibly for +the first time, that the profile of Miss Winton's face +was distinctly good. The nose was almost Jewish, +and all the better for that; the mouth perhaps too +small, but that was not seen in the side view; the +chin neat, and sweeping gracefully into a neck of +which the owner was doubtless proud, as she had +not been at pains to hide it. Nor could a fault +be found with her endowment of fair hair, +displayed low-coiled, and decorated with a glittering +diamond clasp. The diamonds were paste, of +course, but what of that? They sparkled. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 139]</span> +It must be accepted as proof of Henry's +opening eyes that he noticed these things, and +found himself wondering if a certain other young +lady possessed such good looks. For the life of +him he could not say; and he took that, foolishly, +as evidence in favour of the girl by his side. His +thoughts were immediately turned on himself, +when Edgar exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"By the way, dad, I'm the first to tell Henry +that he is likely to be my new boss."</p> + +<p>"Edgar, you're hopeless," put in Flo.</p> + +<p>"If you mean your new editor," said Mr. +Winton sententiously, as he finished the carving +of the cold roast, "then I'm glad to hear it, and +I hope he will boss some of his good sense into +you."</p> + +<p>"Then it is really true that Mr. Macgregor is +leaving?" said Mrs. Winton, with a look towards +Henry.</p> + +<p>"So Edgar tells me, but I have heard nothing +official, and I have purposely kept away from the +office to-night."</p> + +<p>"You can take it from me that his going is a +dead cert," resumed the irrepressible young man; +adding with a glance at his father, whose +philological strictness was a source of sorrow to +the son, "That is, there seems to be very little +doubt about the matter. And if old Mac goes, +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 140]</span> +Henry is well in the running for the editorial +chair, and a rocky bit of furniture that is."</p> + +<p>"I wonder," said Flo, leaning forward with a +quizzing glance to catch Henry's eye, "if you +would be a hard taskmaster, Henry?" It was +difficult for the girl to go on Mistering when the +others Henried to their heart's content. "I am +sure you could put your foot down firmly if you +liked."</p> + +<p>Henry laughed, pleased at the interest taken in +him, and conscious that he was made much of in +this house.</p> + +<p>"There may never be any occasion for me to +try it," he replied; "even if a vacancy does arise, +my age may bar me."</p> + +<p>"Not at all; the great Delane was scarcely +twenty-four when he got the editorship of the +<i>Times</i>," Edgar remarked, with the conviction that +he had displayed a deep knowledge of journalistic +history and settled this point.</p> + +<p>"Besides," added Flo, "you are one of those +men whose age is not written on their face. I'm +sure no one could guess whether you were twenty +or thirty. You could pass for any age you like to +name."</p> + +<p>"There's something in that," said Henry musingly; +"but I'm afraid I must confess that I was +only twenty-two last birthday."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[Pg 141]</span> +"Great Scott! and you'll soon be bossing some +chaps old enough to be your pater. The snows +of four-and-twenty winters have fallen on my own +cranium. It makes me sick to think of it."</p> + +<p>From Edgar, obviously.</p> + +<p>All this was very sweet to Henry. At twenty-two +the average man tingles with pleasure when +it is suggested that he would pass for thirty, and +at thirty he is secretly purchasing hair-restorers +for application to the crown of his head, and +plying a razor where he had been wont to +cultivate a moustache. He is charmed then +beyond measure when his age is guessed at +twenty-two.</p> + +<p>Mr. Winton settled down in an arm-chair in the +dining-room for his after-supper snooze, and while +Mrs. Winton had to turn her attention for a little +to household affairs, superintending the inefficient +maid-of-all-work—whose presence in the house was +another mark of prosperity—the others withdrew +to the drawing-room. Edgar lounged about aimlessly +for a time, and then suddenly pleaded the +urgency of a letter he had to write. Henry and +Flo were left alone.</p> + +<p>This sort of thing occurs often in the lives of +young men who are "eligible," but it is not until +they have ceased to be in that blissful condition +that they suspect a woman's hand had some part +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 142]</span> +in arranging these accidental openings for confidences. +Flo looked certainly as innocent as a dove +when Edgar withdrew to his study; but if Henry's +eyes had been wide open he might have noticed +that Edgar's recollection of his urgent letter was +preceded by a meaning look and a contraction +of the brows from his sister.</p> + +<p>"Now," she said softly, turning to Henry with +an air of eager interest, "do tell me all about +your visit to Hampton. The name of the place +sounds quite romantic to me. Is it on the +map?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you would search your atlas for it +in vain. At best it could only be a pin-point; +like that very tiny German duchy which the +American traveller said he would drive round +rather than pay toll to pass through. It is +smaller than the Laysford market-place."</p> + +<p>"So small as that! Then it's all the more +interesting to me."</p> + +<p>"But there's really nothing to tell about it. +One day is the same as another there. Nothing +ever happens. It is a veritable Sleepy Hollow."</p> + +<p>"But there were interesting folk there. You +see, I know my Washington Irving."</p> + +<p>Flo had the shrewdness to judge this to be an +effective touch, and it did not matter that her +knowledge of the American author was limited to +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 143]</span> +the bare fact that he had written something +about a place of that name.</p> + +<p>"I am glad to find you have read one of my +favourites," Henry replied, and the echo of an +absurd "What is Meredith?" rang in his ears. +It prompted him to ask, without apparent +reason:</p> + +<p>"By-the-by, have you read Meredith? He is +one of the least known and greatest of living +writers."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, isn't he perfectly lovely?" She had a +vague recollection of hearing the name somewhere.</p> + +<p>"I am just in the middle of his latest novel, +'Beauchamp's Career.' It is positively Titanic."</p> + +<p>"I am sure it must be interesting, and I should +love to read it. But really you must tell me +about this Sleepy Hollow of yours. Who did +you see there?"</p> + +<p>"My own folk, of course, and a handful of old +friends."</p> + +<p>"Anybody in par-tic-u-lar?"</p> + +<p>Flo smiled roguishly. She had practised the +smile before, and could do it to perfection.</p> + +<p>"N-o; nobody—worth mentioning."</p> + +<p>Henry had a suspicion that he was being +teased, and he rather liked the operation.</p> + +<p>"Really! I can scarcely believe you. But all +the same, I have a fancy to see this birthplace of +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 144]</span> +our budding editor. I imagine it must be a +sweet little spot."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it is best in imagination. You would +find the actual thing deadly dull."</p> + +<p>He felt himself drifting rudderless before a +freshening breeze of talkee-talkee.</p> + +<p>"No, no, no; I am sure I wouldn't, though +you do not paint it with purple. Do you know," +she went on, resting her pretty head upon her +hand and glancing up sideways at him, "I'm +beginning to think that they don't appreciate you +properly in Hampton Bagot. A prophet has no +honour in his own country, they say. But we are +proud of you here."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps that maxim is not always true, +although it is biblical. In my own case, I fear +there is at least one at Hampton who thinks too +much of my ability."</p> + +<p>"Ah, now you have said it. And who is that +one, pray?"</p> + +<p>"My father."</p> + +<p>"Oh! No one else?"</p> + +<p>"My mother and sisters, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"I should so much like to meet your sisters. +I almost feel as if I knew them already. Who +knows but some day I may have a peep at your +Sleepy Hollow, and tell your sisters all about +you!" +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 145]</span></p> + +<p>The prospect was an alarming one to Henry, +and for the first time in his life he felt himself +ashamed of that little home behind the Post Office +door. But on the whole, the chatter of this young +lady was pleasant in his ears. By no means vain +of his abilities, he was still hungry for appreciation, +and he had not yet learned the most difficult of +all lessons: to recognise sincere admiration. It +seemed to him that in Flo Winton he had found +one who understood him, whose sympathetic +interest in his work and ambitions could brace +and hearten him in the discharge of the important +duties to which there was every likelihood of his +being called before he was a day older.</p> + +<p>The return of Mrs. Winton to the drawing-room +sent the talk off at an obtuse angle, and Edgar, +having finished that important letter, came in to +render the remainder of the evening hopeless to +Flo; but when Henry parted from her in the hall +with another lingering hand-shake, he had the +feeling that something like an understanding had +been established between them; and it was with +a springy stride and a light heart he passed out +to the nearest tramway station.</p> + +<p>The next afternoon he looked in at the office, +and found the manager anxious to speak with +him. It was even as Edgar had prophesied. Sir +Henry Field was understood to think so highly of +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 146]</span> +Henry's work that he agreed with Mr. Jones in +offering him the editorship at a commencing salary +of £250 a year. A bright young member of the +reporting staff was named as his assistant. "If +Sir Henry should ask your age," Mr. Jones +advised, "you are getting on for thirty. You +would pass for that, and I have confidence in +you."</p> + +<p>Henry found himself returning to his rooms as +one who walked on eggs, murmuring to himself, +with comic iteration: "Two hundred and fifty a +year! two hundred and fifty a year!" And he +saw arising in Hampton Bagot a fine new villa, +the pride of the place, to be inhabited by Edward +John Charles and his family circle. Yet he had +once been so proud of that quaint old house with +the Post Office in front. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_147" id="Pg_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>THE PHILANDERERS</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">The</span> news was round the <i>Leader</i> office like a flash +of summer lightning. The most secret transactions +in the managerial room of a newspaper seem to +have this strange quality of immediately becoming +the common knowledge of the office-boy, without +any one person being accusable of blabbing. Not +only so; but in a few hours there was no journalist +in Laysford, from the unattached penny-a-liner, +who wrote paragraphs for London trade papers, +to the editors of the rival dailies, that did not +know who was the new editor of the <i>Leader</i>. +Almost as soon as the news had been confirmed, +Edgar had penned a flowery eulogium and posted +it to that mighty organ of journalism, the <i>Fourth +Estate</i>, which has whimpered from youth to age +that journalists will not buy it, although they have +never been averse from reading—or writing—its +personal puffs. Edgar showed herein either a +better judgment of Henry's character than one +would have expected from him, or a little touch +of innocence in one so fain to be a man of the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 148]</span> +world. It is seldom that the subjects of these +gushing personal notices in the <i>Fourth Estate</i> wait +for others to sing their praises; they can and do +sound the loud timbrel themselves. Shyness has +no part in journalism, and even the bashful young +junior, who has been trying quack remedies for +blushing, leaves his bashfulness outside the door +of the reporters' room after his first week on the +press.</p> + +<p>But somehow, a thick streak of rustic simplicity +remained in Henry's character despite all the eye-opening +and mental widening which had resulted +from his City life. If Edgar had not sent that +paragraph Henry never would, and if we could +but peer into the inmost corner of Edgar's heart +we might find that the impulse behind the writing +of the absurd little puff about "a rising young +journalist" was to stand well with the man who +had come to greatness—as greatness was esteemed +in the journalistic world of Laysford.</p> + +<p>The news was conveyed in characteristic style to +a quarter where it was eagerly hoped for.</p> + +<p>"It's happened just as I expected," Edgar +announced, when he returned home that evening. +"Old Mac has got the shoot direct; no humming +and hawing, but 'Out you go!'"</p> + +<p>"I suppose you mean he has been discharged?" +said Mr. Winton quietly. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 149]</span></p> + +<p>"Yes, dad, that's the long and short of it; and +Henry is to be our new boss. You remember I +told him we all expected it."</p> + +<p>"So far as I recollect," his father observed +sententiously, "that was how you put it."</p> + +<p>"I am so glad to hear it," said Mrs. Winton. +"Henry has got on," with an emphasis on "Henry +has" and a motherly look towards Edgar, who +gave no sign that the implied comparison was +present in his mind.</p> + +<p>The one whose interest was most personal had +given least sign, but Flo's heart was fluttering in a +way that was known only to herself. Following +on the heels of her first thrill of satisfaction +stepped something resembling irritation. She would +have preferred that Edgar had been less eager with +the news, and had left it for Henry to convey in +person. What a splendid opportunity that would +have been for unaffected congratulation! Out of +her momentary irascible mood she threw a taunt +at Edgar.</p> + +<p>"And you, I suppose, have been appointed +Henry's assistant—that would be the least they +could do for such a brilliant young man."</p> + +<p>Edgar flushed and winced. This flicked him +on the raw; but his well-exercised powers of +denunciation were equal to the occasion.</p> + +<p>"No such luck for me; that Scotch ass Tait has +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 150]</span> +got Henry's crib. He is one of those sly, slaving +plodders, without a touch of ability."</p> + +<p>"I have noticed, Edgar," put in his father, "that +it is the plodders who steadily push ahead."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right; but I don't like Tait." +Perhaps this explained a good deal.</p> + +<p>A sudden sense of the value of Edgar's services +in her love affair with Henry filled Flo with regret +for having been spiteful to her dear brother, and +she at once endeavoured to save him from further +unfavourable criticism by expressing the belief that +Henry would doubtless help to advance him all he +could. When the first opportunity offered, Flo +drew Edgar again to her favourite topic, and had +quite smoothed away any ruffles in her brother's +temper before she reached this diplomatic point:</p> + +<p>"Now that Henry has so much in his power, you +must keep on the best of terms with him. Get +him to come and see us as often as you can. Why +not ask him to dine with us on Sunday next? +He could stay until required at the office."</p> + +<p>"Not much use of that, I fancy; Saturday is +about the only day he is likely to come."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! Sunday should suit as well," with a +touch of impatience.</p> + +<p>"But you must remember, Flo, that Henry isn't +like us. Unless he has changed more than I know, +there is a big chunk of the go-to-meeting young +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 151]</span> +man left in him; you never know when you may +bump up against some of his religious principles. +You remember that he used to go to church with +as much pleasure as an ordinary chap goes to a +music-hall. In fact, he did the thing as easily as +take his dinner."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes; but he is getting over those narrow-minded +country ways."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you are right. You don't find much +of that antiquated religious nonsense among us +gentlemen of the Press—hem, hem!—Henry's is +the only case of the kind that I have seen. But +there is hope for him yet," and Edgar laughed +heartily at his own wit, while Flo rewarded him +with a smile as she pushed home the one point +she wished to make.</p> + +<p>"Then you think you may be able to induce +him to spend Sunday with us?"</p> + +<p>"I'll do my best. Can't say more. Usual +dinner hour, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Two o'clock. That gives him time for forenoon +church—if he really must go."</p> + +<p>Much to Edgar's surprise, and more to his satisfaction, +the editor of the <i>Leader</i> consented with +unusual readiness to honour the Wintons the +following Sunday, and when the day came Henry +was not at the forenoon service. He was not +even annoyed at himself for having lain abed too +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 152]</span> +long. His mind was filled with thoughts of the +importance he had suddenly assumed in the eyes +of many who had previously seemed unaware of +his existence. Even the church folk, among +whom he had moved for years almost unfriended, +were now curiously interested in him, and the +vicar had done him the remarkable honour of +inviting him to dinner to meet several gentlemen +prominent in the religious and social life of the +city, an invitation which it had given Henry a +malicious pleasure to refuse, as the memory of his +cold entrances and exits through the door of +Holy Trinity contrasted frigidly with this +unfamiliar friendliness.</p> + +<p>Yet the vicar was a good man, and the church +folk were in the main good people too. Henry's +experience was no unusual one, nor unnatural. +It was but the outcome of that pride of youth +which, while one is hungry for friendship, restrains +one from any show of a desire to make friends. +He was not the first nor the last young man who +coming from a small town or village where the +church life has an intimate social side, expects +something of the same in the larger communion +of the city, and is chilled by what seems frosty +indifference. The fault, however—if any fault there +be—lies nearly always with the individual, and +not with his fellow-Christians. So, or not; religion +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 153]</span> +is no matter of hand-shaking and social smirks. +The truth is that Henry had at last been touched +by that dread complaint of Self-importance, from +which before he had appeared to be immune.</p> + +<p>A swelling head, from the contemplation of one's +importance in the great drama of life, and a heart +swelling with thoughts of one young woman, are +two phenomena which make the bachelor days of +all men remarkably alike at one stage or another.</p> + +<p>If "the youngest editor of any daily newspaper +in England" (<i>vide</i> the <i>Fourth Estate</i>) let the +church slide that Sunday morning, he devoted +as much care to his personal appearance as the +least devout of ladies to her Easter Sunday toilet. +When he arrived at the Wintons, arrayed in a +well-fitting frock-coat and glossy silk hat, there +was no least lingering trace of the outward Henry +we knew of old.</p> + +<p>The dinner was very daintily served indeed; +there was a touch of pleasant luxury about the +meal which contrasted most favourably with the +homely cuisine of Hampton Bagot, to say nothing +of his lonely bachelor dinners. He knew that the +hand which had set this table and superintended +that meal was Flo's, and assured himself he was +on the right tack. What a charming hostess she +would make! How well she would entertain his +friends, and do the honours of his house! +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 154]</span> +It was in pure innocence of heart, and merely +with a desire to agreeably tease the visitor, that +Mr. Winton remarked during the meal:</p> + +<p>"Well, Henry, you are quite an important +personage now; the next thing we shall hear is +that you have blossomed out with a fine villa in +Park Road, and—a wife!"</p> + +<p>From the mother—any mother—such an observation +would, in all likelihood, have been prompted +by thoughts of a daughter; but not from the +father—not from any father.</p> + +<p>Flo tried not to look conscious; though under +cover of her apparent indifference she stole an +anxious glance at Henry, who only laughed. The +laugh was not convincing of the indifference which +his speech suggested:</p> + +<p>"Plenty of time for that, Mr. Winton. I have +a lot to do before I turn my thoughts to the +domestic side of life. Besides, it means a year or +two of saving."</p> + +<p>Flo imagined that for one brief second the eye +of their interesting visitor rested upon her as he +delivered himself so to her father.</p> + +<p>It was the first occasion since the old days at +Wheelton that Henry had engaged to spend more +than an hour or two at the Wintons, and the +drawing-room conversation seeming to flag a little +after dinner, Flo suggested a walk. The weather +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 155]</span> +was alluring, and Laysford on an autumn day is +one of the most lovable towns in England. Henry +was nothing loth, and for the sake of appearance, +Edgar was included; but before they had reached +the green banks of the River Lays the obliging +fellow had suddenly remembered an appointment +with a friend who lived in an opposite direction, +and Flo and Henry were bereft of his company +for the remainder of the walk, which now lay along +the grove of elms by the river-side.</p> + +<p>"It's really too bad of Edgar," said Flo, with a +fine show of indignation when he had gone. "One +can't depend on him for five minutes at a time; +he's always rushing away like that."</p> + +<p>"Never mind," replied Mr. Henry Innocent, +glancing at his companion in a way that showed +the situation was by no means disagreeable to +him. "He will very likely be home before we get +back."</p> + +<p>"But I am afraid you will find me dull +company," she said, although shining eyes and an +arch smile gave flat contradiction to the words.</p> + +<p>"I don't think you need be afraid of that."</p> + +<p>"Really! Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because you must know it is not the case."</p> + +<p>Thus and thus, as in the past, now, and always, +your loving couples. The gabble-gabble reads +tame in print, and we will listen no further. Let +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 156]</span> +them have their fill of it; their giggles, their tiffs +if they may; why should the stuff be written +down? But this must be said: Flo had reason to +believe that the affair of her heart was making +progress. She thought that Henry was coming +out of his shell, and the process was of deep +interest to her.</p> + +<p>Edgar had not returned when the couple +reached home, and he was absent from the tea-table. +The day had been rich indeed to Flo, and +Henry was almost in as high spirits as his +companion. When the evening bells pealed out +for church he still dawdled in the undevotional +atmosphere of the Wintons' drawing-room. Yet +even for him they did not ring in vain. At their +sweet sound the shutter of forgetfulness was raised +from his mind, and he saw again a tiny country +church perched on a green hill; a ragged file of +homely folk trailing up the path and through the +lych-gate, familiar faces all in the long-ago; and +from the vicarage, with failing step, the grey-haired +pastor of the flock, and by the old man's +side the figure of a sweet woman, on which for a +moment his mental vision lingered, to be rudely +broken by—"A penny for your thoughts, Mr. +Editor," from Flo.</p> + +<p>The shutter came down with a rush. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_157" id="Pg_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>FATE AND A FIDDLER</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">In</span> the life of journalism—many ways the least +conventional of callings, in which there remains +even in our prosaic day a savour of Bohemianism—there +is still the need to observe the conventions +of a commercial age. An editor who +familiarises with his reporters imperils his +authority, for every man of his staff considers +himself to be as good a craftsman as the editor; +and does not the humblest junior carry in his +wallet the potential quill of an editor-in-chief?</p> + +<p>A newspaper, moreover, for all the prating +about the profession of journalism, is as much a +business establishment as the grocer's round the +corner. <i>Ergo</i>, if the grocer has his villa, so must +the editor. If the editor be a bachelor, then the +dignity of his paper demands that he shall take +lodging in the most pretentious neighbourhood his +means will allow.</p> + +<p>Perhaps this had not occurred to Henry until a +fairly broad hint from the manager indicated what +was expected of him. Perhaps, also, it was the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 158]</span> +need to move into "swagger diggings" that +superinduced the aforesaid attack of "swelled +head." Henry justified to himself his removal, +and the increased expense entailed thereby, on the +ground that his collection of books, mainly review +copies, defaced by obnoxious rubber stamps—"With +the publisher's compliments"—was rapidly +growing beyond the accommodation of his tiny +sitting-room. So to the spacious house of a +certain Mrs. Arkwright, in the aristocratic neighbourhood +of Park Road, he moved with his +belongings.</p> + +<p>His new apartments were luxurious beyond the +wildest dreams of his early youth, and for that +reason alone he stood in imminent danger of +developing expensive tastes. Ah, these furnished +apartments of our bachelor days! At an outlay +comparatively small contrasted with the immediate +end attained, they lift the young man into an +easeful atmosphere he would fain continue when +he sets up house of his own; only to find that +the hire of two well-appointed rooms is child's +play to the maintenance of a house on the same +scale. With the more cautious the convenience of +first-class apartments makes housekeeping appear +formidable. And there you have the secret "love +story" of many an easy bachelor.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Arkwright's house was filled with well-paying +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 159]</span> +lodgers, but as all had their separate rooms, while +the landlady's family occupied the basement, there +was not much common intercourse between the +paying guests—for it should have been noted that +Henry had now passed into a locality where the +word "lodger" was taboo, and the evasive +euphemism "paying guest" took its place.</p> + +<p>At first Henry was too much interested in himself +and his regal "we" to concern himself greatly about +the other lodgers, and in any case his regular +absence at the office every night would almost +have served for a "Box and Cox" arrangement. +But sometimes, as he had been about to leave in +the evening for his editorial duties, he had heard +the delicious strains of a 'cello superbly played in +the room above him, and although no judge of +music, he felt that the unseen player must be a +person of some character, for the wailing note of +the music bore with it a strong individual touch. +It seemed to him that this fingering of the minor +chords bespoke a performer whose personality was +as distinctly expressed in music as an author's soul +is bared in his written words.</p> + +<p>The unknown musician piqued his curiosity. +Who was the occupant of the room overhead, +whose soul gave forth that mournful note? There +was something, too, in the music very soothing to +him. One night he lingered, listening to the player, +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 160]</span> +following the plaintive cadence of the piece till +the music trailed away into silence, when he noticed +with a start that it was half an hour behind the +time he was usually to be found at his desk. He +fancied after this evening that there was something +in the room overhead he would have to reckon with.</p> + +<p>The identity of the unknown player could easily +have been settled by consulting Mrs. Arkwright, +but that lady was almost as mournful as the music, +and strangly reserved, so Henry refrained for a +time from mentioning the subject to her. Besides, +there was a pleasant element of mystery in the +thing, which appealed to his imagination. But at +last curiosity came uppermost, and while she was +laying his supper about eight o'clock one evening—the +last meal of the day before setting out for +his nightly task—he asked the landlady who +occupied the room above.</p> + +<p>"Well now, Mr. Charles," she answered, almost +brightly, as though struck with some coincidence, +"it is strange you should speak of him, for only +this very day he was speaking to me of you."</p> + +<p>"Indeed! Then it's a him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; a gentleman," with a pursing of the +lips.</p> + +<p>"Young, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Not much older than you, sir. But he has +seen a lot of the world." +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 161]</span></p> + +<p>This was accepted as an unconscious reflection +on his own experience.</p> + +<p>"Been here long?"</p> + +<p>"About two months, sir, this time. I have had +him staying with me before. He belongs to Laysford, +you see. He comes and goes as the fancy takes +him. Most of his time he spends in London."</p> + +<p>"In London," said Henry, who still dreamed +dreams, although he was an editor so soon. "Do +you happen to know his occupation?"</p> + +<p>"He writes, sir, I think, like you do. Leastways, +he is often at it in his room upstairs, and +is very particular about any of his papers being +touched."</p> + +<p>"And he was speaking to you of me, you say?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. He asked me who you were. I told +him you were the editor or something of the <i>Leader</i>. +He seemed quite interested, and said he would like +to come down and meet you some evening, if you +had no objection."</p> + +<p>"None whatever. On the contrary, I should be +very pleased to make his acquaintance; and +perhaps you would be good enough to tell +him so."</p> + +<p>"I will give him your message, sir. I am sure +you would like him, for he has a way of making +himself liked by everybody."</p> + +<p>"You make me quite anxious to meet him, +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 162]</span> +Mrs. Arkwright. By the way, I don't think you +mentioned his name."</p> + +<p>"It's a strange name for a gentleman, sir," +replied Mrs. Arkwright, the pale ghost of a +smile chasing across her worn features—"Phineas +Puddephatt. We call him Mr. P. for short. His +family used to be very well known in Laysford. +You see, he is a gentleman of some fortune."</p> + +<p>Henry found himself dangerously near to open +laughter at mention of the egregious name, but he +succeeded in commanding his features, perhaps +from fear of shocking the prim Mrs. Arkwright, +who had carried on a longer conversation with +him than he could have believed possible from so +reserved a lady. The most he could venture by +way of facetiousness was:</p> + +<p>"Then, until we meet I shall call him 'the +mysterious Mr. P.'"</p> + +<p>With the flicker of another smile the landlady left +her paying guest to the enjoyment of his supper +and thoughts of the comic muse who could couple +the sobbing of a 'cello with Puddephatt.</p> + +<p>A week or more went past with those two +sleeping under the same roof, but a series of +engagements prevented Henry from hitting off +just the moment for meeting. One Saturday +evening, when both were at home, the opportunity +came. Noticing Henry deep in a book after +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 163]</span> +supper, Mrs. Arkwright asked if he intended to +remain indoors all the evening, and being +answered in the affirmative, suggested that she +would mention the fact to Mr. P., who was also +disengaged. Henry assenting, continued with the +book, a new novel that was provoking a storm +of criticism, and which he had determined to +review himself.</p> + +<p>Not long after Mrs. Arkwright had left him +there came a knock at his door. To the invitation +of a cheery "Come in," Mr. Phineas +Puddephatt stepped across the threshold, bringing +a new and powerful influence into the life of +Henry Charles. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_164" id="Pg_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>"THE MYSTERIOUS MR. P."</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">The</span> mysterious Mr. P. was revealed to the eye of his +fellow-lodger as a man of medium height, well built, +almost soldierly in the carriage of his body, with a +pale, colourless face, clean shaven as an actor's, his +hair, though plentiful, fast turning grey. The +velvet jacket which he wore, together with the +studied negligence of his necktie, were distinctly +marks of affectation, if Henry had an eye for such, +and it is more than possible he had. Still, the +general effect of Mr. P.'s appearance must have +been generally favourable to the young man who rose +to greet him as he entered the room. It went some +way to support the romantic picture of him which +Henry had sketched out in his mind, and nothing is +more flattering to our self-esteem than thus to find +ourselves anticipating Nature. 'Tis easily done, +however, given the fact that the unknown scrapes a +fiddle. Yet why should musicians proclaim their +profession in their person as plainly as any stableboy +his? The amateur is even more professional +in his appearance than the professional himself. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 165]</span></p> + +<p>As Mr. P. closed the door and advanced some +steps to shake hands with the occupant of the room, +his pale features were lit up by a smile that put +Henry at his ease forthwith, for there had been a +momentary revolt of shyness in the young man's +mind after expressing his desire to meet the +gentleman from upstairs. It was a worn man of +the world and a very provincial young man who +shook hands.</p> + +<p>"You will pardon this late and informal visit, +Mr. Charles," said Mr. Puddephatt, "but it has +seemed so unneighbourly never to have met you +before, and you are so much engaged, that I determined +to take the first opportunity of passing an +hour with you."</p> + +<p>"I am indeed happy to meet you."</p> + +<p>"The fact that you are a man of letters interests +me greatly, for I too have dabbled a little with the +pen, and Laysford is a dull place for the literary +man, as everybody seems bent on money-grubbing."</p> + +<p>"My own occupation is, I fear, not unsuited to an +industrial town. Pray sit down and make yourself +comfortable."</p> + +<p>"Still, journalism is at least a province of literature," +said the visitor, smiling.</p> + +<p>He helped himself to a cigarette, and took the +easy-chair Henry had moved forward to the fire.</p> + +<p>"A sphere of influence, perhaps, if not quite a +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 166]</span> +province," Henry replied, catching something of +Mr. P.'s rather studied conversational manner, as he +seated himself and toyed with his cigarette. "I am +beginning to think that literature and journalism +have less in common than I once supposed. Have +you ever engaged in journalism?"</p> + +<p>"Only slightly. I have done a little in the +reviews, chiefly on musical subjects. My efforts +have been in the direction of fiction."</p> + +<p>Henry had almost remarked that the name of his +fellow-lodger was not familiar to him as a writer of +fiction, but congratulated himself on leaving the +thought unexpressed; and since the other made no +further reference to his own work, Henry fancied he +might be one of the rare authors who did not care +to discuss their books, and wisely refrained from +inquiring too closely as to the nature of these +literary efforts at which the still mysterious Mr. P. +had so vaguely hinted. The latter also tacked away +from the subject, and continued after a pause:</p> + +<p>"I see you are well up-to-date, Mr. Charles, in the +matter of books," his sleepy eyes brightening almost +into eagerness while they scanned the heap of new +novels for review lying on Henry's desk.</p> + +<p>"That in a sense is forced on me," replied the +young editor, "although my own personal taste is +to blame for the extra work involved. Until I +suggested it the <i>Leader</i> had paid practically no +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 167]</span> +attention to books. You see, it sells for its market +reports and local news—far more important things +than literature."</p> + +<p>"It was always the way; the arts have hung for +ages on the skirts of trade."</p> + +<p>"The result is that I have to do all our reviews +myself."</p> + +<p>"I can assure you of at least one appreciative +reader who rejoiced when the <i>Leader</i> took on the +literary touch you have given it. It is said that +people get the kind of journalism they are fitted for; +but for my part, I believe that the colourless writing +of most provincial papers is the result of lack of taste +in the journalists themselves. You don't find, for +instance, that the more literary <i>Leader</i> is less popular +than the bald and tasteless production it used +to be?"</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, I am told it is doing better," +Henry replied, with a touch of self-satisfaction which +might have been modified if he had inquired more +closely into the cause of the increased circulation.</p> + +<p>A series of local tragedies, and a heated controversy +on the licensing question, had probably more +to do with the result than all the editor's literary +taste.</p> + +<p>"You have a book here, I notice," continued Mr. +Puddephatt, singling out the novel Henry had been +reading, and had laid down, with the paper-knife +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 168]</span> +between its pages near to the end, "in which I +am not a little interested. The critics have been +denouncing it so heartily that the publisher has +difficulty in keeping pace with the demand."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry to hear it, for I mean to slate it too, +and it is small consolation if that only helps to sell +the thing."</p> + +<p>Henry turned to the table and picked up the red +cloth volume. It was entitled "Ashes," the name +of the writer being Adrian Grant. The eyes of his +guest followed his movements, and studied his face +with unusual sharpness. He made a barely concealed +effort to appear only languidly interested +when the editor proceeded to denounce the work in +good set terms.</p> + +<p>"I certainly shall do myself the pleasure of 'letting +myself go' when I sit down to give Adrian Grant +my opinion of his book."</p> + +<p>Henry had entered fully into that most delusive +joy of journalism which spurs the young, raw writer +on when he imagines he has some unpalatable +truths to deliver. But in this case there was a +worthier impulse than the common delight of +attacking an author in print. Despite the influences +that seemed to have been undermining the simple +religious faith Henry had brought away from his +native village, there still remained in him a strong +abhorrence of that paganish cynicism which, expressed +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 169]</span> +in fiction, tends to drag the mind into the sunless +dungeons of thought and away from the glorious +light of Christian truth. This book, "Ashes," was +precisely of that type. Under the guise of a story +pretending to reflect the manners of the time, it +discussed problems which were in no sense representative +of the varied whole of life, and the +discussion of which appealed mainly to the morbid +taste of readers who cared not a jot for art.</p> + +<p>"I shall be most interested to read your review," +said Mr. P.; "and might I steal a march on your +other readers by asking what impression 'Ashes' +has made on you?"</p> + +<p>"I can best describe it by saying it leaves a +nasty taste in the mouth—clever, but not nice."</p> + +<p>"Which might suggest that the author has +succeeded in his task," rejoined the other, laughing +and lighting a fresh cigarette, "since ashes have +usually that effect. You know Moore's famous +lines:</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;"> +"'Dead Sea fruits that tempt the eye,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">But turn to ashes on the lips'?"</span> +</p> + +<p>"Yes, and I think that 'Dead Sea Fruits' would +have been as good a title for the book. But happily +for mankind, we are not in the habit of making +excursions to the Dead Sea to taste its apples."</p> + +<p>"There speaks hopeful youth. That is precisely +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 170]</span> +what mankind is ever doing; that is the tragedy of +life."</p> + +<p>"Surely there is more beauty than ugliness in the +world, and even if there were less would it not be +nobler to draw man's thoughts to the beauty rather +than to the ugliness?"</p> + +<p>"Your view of art is somewhat Philistine, don't +you think? The artist's business is not with morals +but with truth, and truth is not always beautiful."</p> + +<p>"But there must be a purpose behind every work +of art—a moral purpose, I mean," the younger man +persisted, although he was conscious he was no +match in argument against the defender of "Ashes."</p> + +<p>Henry's opinions were still in that state of +flux when a young man's thoughts take on some +colouring from every influence that touches them, +and are only in a very minor degree the expression +of his own mind.</p> + +<p>"The only purpose the artist need avow is +to express the truth as he sees it," continued Mr. +Puddephatt confidently. "I shall admit that the +picture set forth in this novel is ugly, but I believe +it to be true. Remember, we have the butcher's +shop as well as the pastrycook's in Nature, and I +fancy the former is the larger establishment."</p> + +<p>"Admitted," Henry retorted, with lessening fervour, +"but are we not told that the end of art is to +please?" +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 171]</span></p> + +<p>"Assuredly; to please what?—Our sense of +the artistic. The Italians have a fine way of +talking about 'beautiful ugliness,' and if the artist, +working within the limits of his medium, proves +to others that the thing he has produced—picture, +statue, book—is in tune with Nature, let it be never +so ugly, it must still please our artistic sense."</p> + +<p>Henry found himself wandering in a <i>cul de sac</i> +of thought. This man who opposed his mind to +his could out-manœuvre him at every move. He +was painfully conscious now that opinions he +had thought to be his own were only unwinnowed +sheaves of thought gleaned in the field of his reading. +Still, he felt that with pen in hand, and no quick +answer to each phrase, he could prove his case. +How often does the writing man feel thus.</p> + +<p>"But there is nothing in this book, so far as I +can see," urged Henry warmly, "that tends to +elevate the mind to better things. It may be true +what you say of the butcher's shop, but the +pastrycook's is a pleasanter place any day."</p> + +<p>"Ah, my young friend, that way lies indigestion," +the other retorted, smiling. "It is none of the artist's +business to elevate; it is his function to interpret +life, and you will tramp far along the dusty road +of life to find anything that elevates. The fact +is, when I—I mean, when Adrian Grant set himself +to write that book, I believe his purpose was +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 172]</span> +to attack the mawkish sentimentality of our contemporary +fiction, to strike a blow at the shoddy +romance which is the worst form of art. For my +part, deliver me, I pray, from all writers who seek +to elevate. The true watchword is 'Art for art's +sake.'"</p> + +<p>"To me it seems rather 'Art for dirt's sake,'" +Henry rejoined a little savagely, and a shadow of +displeasure clouded the features of his visitor at the +words. "But admitting all you say, is there no +Power apart from ourselves that tends to draw +our thoughts, our very souls, upward?"</p> + +<p>"I have looked for it in vain," the other speaker +replied, with a languid wave of the hand. "What +about the life of our slums, for instance? Is every +man and woman there a villain, a lost soul? Surely +not. Yet we see every evil rampant, we see every +virtue dead; vice triumphant. Who is to blame? +The people: the victims? Surely not. Reason says +no, a thousand times. Where is this Power you +speak of when slumland exists, a horror? But in +Kensington there is as little that elevates as there +is in Whitechapel. The honest man loses generally +in the struggle; the scoundrel flaunts himself before +high heaven; he rides in mayoral furs, he swarms +into Parliament, he mounts the very pulpit itself."</p> + +<p>Henry was abashed and silent before the impassioned +language of the speaker, who had suddenly +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 173]</span> +flamed up and risen from his seat, pacing the room +with restless strides while he declaimed and gesticulated +surprisingly for one who had seemed so self-possessed, +so <i>blasé</i>. Henry was silent because of +his inability to understand the mystery of pain—a +mystery to older heads than his.</p> + +<p>"I have searched the world for a principle, for a +law of life," exclaimed Mr. P., stopping suddenly and +looking the journalist straight in the face, "and I +have never scented one."</p> + +<p>"We are told to love one another," said Henry, +almost timidly.</p> + +<p>"Well, do you find that principle at work? I +find hate, malice, inhumanity, wherever I turn my +eyes. That is what I meant by the butcher's shop. +I find ministers preaching the gospel of peace and +buttressing the policy of war and plunder. I find +hypocrisy enthroned, honesty contemned."</p> + +<p>"But if one believes in the Word of God, is it +not better to be the honest man contemned than +the throned hypocrite?"</p> + +<p>"If we find every fact of life at cross-purpose +with Scripture, what then?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you don't believe in the Bible?" Henry +put it thus bluntly to him.</p> + +<p>"I prefer to say that it does not convince me. +It tells, for example, of a man who was guilty of a +paltry fraud in attempting to cheat a small number +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 174]</span> +of his fellows; and upon whom, in the very act, +sudden destruction fell. He was struck down dead, +we are told. Where to-day is that Power which +meted out such swift and deadly punishment? +Here, in this town, men lie and cheat with impunity, +and on a scale which involves hundreds of innocent +victims. The Divine vengeance slumbers. God—if +there is a God—sleeps; or else looks on with supreme +indifference to the sufferings of His creatures."</p> + +<p>"It is all a great mystery, I confess," returned +Henry, with something very like a sigh.</p> + +<p>The anchor of faith, which had of late been +dragging, seemed almost to have slipped, and he +felt himself drifting out into dark and troubled +waters. This was the young man who, less than +an hour ago, was vowing to trounce the author of +"Ashes" for his gloomy view of life. The thought +had come to him that perhaps his very faith was +a mere convention of early teaching. He sat ill +at ease before his visitor, whose passionate outburst +had left both without further speech. It was a +strange conclusion of an irresponsible gossip on the +art of literature. After looking for a minute or +two at Henry's book-shelves, Mr. Puddephatt said +abruptly:</p> + +<p>"I am indebted to you for a most enjoyable +hour, Mr. Charles, and hope we shall see more of +each other in the future." +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 175]</span></p> + +<p>"I hope so too," answered Henry, at a loss for +words, his brain in a whirl of distracting thought.</p> + +<p>When the mysterious Mr. P. quitted the room, +Henry felt that his lightly-chosen epithet was +more suitable than ever. But it was less of the +man he thought, as he now unconsciously imitated +him in pacing his room, than of the ideas he had +enunciated; these had instantly become detached +from their originator and boiled up in Henry's mind +with all the lees of youthful doubts and questionings +that had been lying there. The mental +ferment had a harassing effect on him. Almost +for the first time in his life he felt a strange +desire to turn inside out his spiritual nature and +find what it consisted of. And the next instant +the thought was madness to him.</p> + +<p>"I said to him that we are told to love one +another," he reflected, setting his teeth defiantly. +"If we did, then evil would cease out of the +world. So the religion which teaches this must +be right. But we don't do so—he was right there—and +if our natures are not capable of this love, +what profits the advice? He's no fool; but the +way seems very dark. I half wish he hadn't +touched the subject."</p> + +<p>As these thoughts were coursing through Henry's +mind, the strains of a 'cello, soothing and +sensuous, came from the room above, adding a +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 176]</span> +dramatic touch to a memorable experience, and +reminding him startlingly that he had never +spoken a word to Mr. P. about his music.</p> + +<p>The lateness of the hour surprised Henry, who +threw himself down in a chair and stared blankly +at the dying embers in the grate, while the +musician sounded with exquisite touch the closing +bars of a nocturne. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_177" id="Pg_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>DRIFTING</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">When</span> Henry's review of "Ashes" appeared, it was +not so violent an attack on the author as he had +meant it to be. Indeed, he was half-ashamed when +he read in print what he had written about that +much-discussed book; in certain passages it sounded +suspiciously like Mr. P.'s own phrases.</p> + +<p>"We shall admit that it is no business of art to +concern itself with morals." Where did we hear the +words before? "It is, alas, only too true that life +is not all sweetness: it has more than a dash of +bitter." A platitude; and borrowed at that. "But +we must not suppose that only beauty is true and +artistic: ugliness may still be of the very essence +of art." Really, the fiddler fellow might have done +the review himself. No doubt, when he read it, he +felt that it was mainly his.</p> + +<p>Henry had yet to discover that the opinions he +gave forth with so much pomp and circumstance +had been unconsciously pilfered. The mind of every +young man is an unblushing thief. It drifts into +honest ways in due time, however, and when it +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 178]</span> +does not, the aged plagiarist may argue that he +still remains young.</p> + +<p>In a word, the influence of Mr. Puddephatt fell +upon Henry at a most critical moment in his +zigzag journey towards sober common-sense, and +the modified tone of the review indicated a similar +change in the inner thoughts of the young journalist—too +sudden, perhaps, to be alarming.</p> + +<p>But it was apparent that he had become unsettled +in his religious convictions as the result of frequent +subsequent meetings with his fellow-lodger, who +exercised a conscious fascination over the younger +man, and could induce Henry to reveal his inmost +thoughts without himself volunteering much about +his own personal history. Mr. P. was actuated, +no doubt, mainly by sheer interest in his friend, +and had no sinister end—as he conceived it—in +view. So the friendship grew, to the no small +annoyance of Flo Winton, who had frequent cause +to chide her lover for giving more of his scanty +leisure to Mr. P. than to one—mentioning no +names—who had perhaps more claim upon it.</p> + +<p>At the <i>Leader</i> office he was finding things less +to his mind than he had hoped. Five years ago +the editorship of a daily paper was a golden dream +to him; a year ago, his brightest hope; to-day, a +post involving much drudgery, more diplomacy and +temporising; small satisfaction. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 179]</span></p> + +<p>He imagined that his case was exceptional. "If +this," and "granted that," the editorship of the +<i>Leader</i> was an ideal post. Minus the ifs, it was +not a bed of roses. The cyclist who is bumping +along a rough road notices that his friend is +wheeling smoothly on the other side, and steers +across to get on the smooth track, just as his +friend leaves it for the same reason reversed.</p> + +<p>We all suppose our trials to be exceptional, +and the chances are that the people we are +envying are envying us. Conceivably, the editorship +of the <i>Times</i> is not heavenly. There were +some hundreds of ambitious journalists ready to +rush for Henry's post the moment he showed +signs of quitting. A newspaper that has had +fifteen editors in five years will have five hundred +candidates for the job when the fifteenth gives up +the struggle. Henry had learned at the rate of a +year a week since he became editor.</p> + +<p>That leader yesterday had displeased the chairman +of directors, as it was somewhat outspoken in favour +of municipal trams, and the chairman was a shareholder +in the existing company. Another director +wanted to see more news from the colliery districts +than the paper usually contained, and a third +fancied that the City news was not full enough. +Yet another, a wealthy hosiery manufacturer, who +was wont to boast himself a "self-made man," +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 180]</span> +pointed out that they didn't like leaders to be +humorous, and he was open to bet as the heditor +was wrong in saying "politics was tabu," when +everybody knoo as 'ow the word was "tabooed." +He'd looked it hup in the dictionary 'imself. +Politics and newspaper-editorship bring us strange +bedfellows.</p> + +<p>The simple truth was that Henry, all too soon, +had learned what an editor's responsibility meant. +It meant supporting the political programme of the +party which the paper represented, temporising +with selfish interests, humouring ignorance when it +wore diamond rings, toiling for others to take +the credit, and blundering for oneself to bear the +blame.</p> + +<p>Many of these worries would have been +absent from the editorship of a really first-class +newspaper; but first-class journals are seldom +edited by young men of twenty-two or thereby. +Henry had no financial control—a good thing +for him, perhaps—and the manager had won the +confidence of the directors through procuring +dividends by cutting down expenses. He saved +sixpence a week by insisting on the caretaker, +who made tea for the staff every evening, buying +in a less quantity of milk. He pointed out to the +poor woman that she was unduly severe on +scrubbing-brushes, and after refusing to sign a +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 181]</span> +bill for a sixpenny ball of string required in the +packing department, on the plea that "there was a +deal of waste going on," he went out to dine +with Sir Henry Field, the chairman of directors, +to the tune of a guinea a head "for the prestige of +the paper." He had even stopped the <i>Spectator</i> +and the <i>Saturday Review</i>, which had been bought +for the editor in the past, urging that it was +dangerous to read them, as that might interfere +with the editor's originality in his leaders. Besides, +it saved a shilling a week, and really one didn't +know what journalistic competition was coming to.</p> + +<p>Yet Henry had "succeeded," though he had not +"arrived." Best evidence of his success was the +jealousy which he created among the older members +of the staff, and the contempt in which his name +was held in the rival newspaper offices. But he +was not satisfied. In less than a year he had ceased +to thrill with pride when he was spoken of as editor +of the <i>Leader</i>. The political party of which his +paper was the avowed local mouthpiece had won +a splendid victory at the School Board election, +"thanks in no small degree to the able support of +the <i>Leader</i>," the orators averred when they performed +the mutual back-patting at the Liberal Club meeting. +Sir Henry Field bowed his acknowledgments +of the praise when he rose; and the manager of the +<i>Leader</i> was much in evidence. Henry was at that +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 182]</span> +moment writing away at his desk with his coat off. +This is the pathetic side of journalism and of life—one +man sows, another reaps.</p> + +<p>Nor was Henry's love affair progressing more +happily than his experience of editing. The swelled +head was subsiding; perhaps the swelled heart +also. He heard frequently from home, and there +was occasional mention of Eunice; and when his +eye caught the name in his sister's letters he had a +momentary twinge of a regret which he could not +express, and did not quite understand.</p> + +<p>Flo Winton had in no wise altered so far as he +was capable of judging. She was still the bright, +attractive young woman he had grown suddenly +conscious of a few years ago. Nothing had been +whispered of "engagement," but she had indicated +in many unmistakable little ways that she regarded +Henry's future as bound up with her own. Yet he +now began to wonder if he were wise to let things +drift on as they were shaping. He wondered, and +let things drift. Flo was quite clear in her mind +that they were "as good as engaged." She +understood that the woman who hesitates is lost.</p> + +<p>Mr. P. was away from Laysford for the winter, +the second he had spent in London and on the +Continent since Henry and he became acquainted, +when the journalist had the first real glimpse into +the mysteriousness of his friend. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 183]</span></p> + +<p>While compiling his weekly column of literary +gossip for the <i>Leader</i>—a feature which more than +one director had stigmatised as shameful waste of +good space that might have been filled with real +news or market reports—Henry found a short paragraph +in the personal column of a London weekly +which made him stare at the print:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I understand that Adrian Grant, whose +book 'Ashes' was so widely discussed last +autumn, is the pen-name of a Mr. Phineas +Pudifant, a country gentleman who is well +known in certain select circles of London's +literary and musical world. His previous novel, +'The Corrupter,' published two years before +'Ashes,' had a distinct artistic success; but +the great popularity of his later book was +as remarkable as it was unexpected and +unsought. Adrian Grant is essentially a +writer for art's sake, and not for so much +per thousand words."</p></div> + +<p>Henry doubted the evidence of his eyes as he +read the startling news. The journal in which the +paragraph appeared, and the <i>chroniqueur</i> responsible +for it, were noted for the authoritative character of +their information, and he knew that such a statement +could not have been made so deliberately unless it +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 184]</span> +were true to the facts. The very misspelling of +the name was in its favour. There were queer +names in England, but Mr. P.'s was especially odd, +and even wrongly spelt it retained its peculiarity. +Still, it was a tremendous strain on his mind to +accept the statement as accurate. Never, so far as +he could remember, had Mr. P. given him cause to +couple his name with that of the author of "Ashes," +but after the first shock of surprise, he began to +recall how warmly his reticent friend had defended +the book on the evening when they first met. It +must be true, and now his wonder was that "Adrian +Grant"—he began to think of him under the more +euphonious name—could have suppressed "the +natural man," which is in every author and prides +him on the work of his pen. The mysterious +Mr. P. had deepened in mystery; the more Henry's +acquaintance with him progressed, the less he knew +him.</p> + +<p>Henry was tempted to make a paragraph out of +this newly acquired information, and to add thereto +some references of a local nature which would have +been widely quoted from the <i>Leader</i>. But he had +second thoughts that the subject of the paragraph +would not be pleased, and heroically he restrained +himself, avoiding all mention of the matter. The +ordinary person who has no means other than +word of mouth for advertising abroad some choice +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 185]</span> +bit of gossip that has come his way, can but +vaguely estimate the personal restraint which the +journalist possessed of a tit-bit of news must +exercise in keeping the information to himself. It +is the journalist's business to blab, and he is as +fidgety as a woman with a secret. Henry, however, +had the consolation that perhaps after all the statement +might not be correct. There were frequent +cases of coincidence in the most absurd cognomens.</p> + +<p>He had to nurse his mystery for the remainder +of that winter and into the early summer, as Mr. +P. remained away from Laysford, and his movements +for a time were quite unknown even to +Mrs. Arkwright, who usually received periodical +cheques for reserving his rooms while he was absent. +A brief note to that lady early in the year had explained +that her well-paying guest would be longer +in returning than he had intended, as he was making +a stay of some months in Sardinia. Another +paragraph with the name properly spelt had found +its way into the newspaper where Henry saw the +first. The second was even briefer, and merely +mentioned that Mr. P. was at present staying in +the Mediterranean island, "where probably some +scenes in his next novel would be laid."</p> + +<p>Doubt as to the identity of Adrian Grant had +finally left Henry's mind, and he had even persuaded +himself that there were many passages both +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 186]</span> +in "The Corrupter" and "Ashes" which revealed +the man behind the book. It is surprisingly easy +to find the man in his style when you start by +knowing him.</p> + +<p>And now the man himself was back in Laysford +once more. Henry heard the strains of his 'cello +before he met the player again. It was a Saturday +night, and Mr. P. had come downstairs for a chat +with him.</p> + +<p>"You must have thought that I had gone away +for good," he said, after warmly greeting his young +friend. "I had it often on my mind to write, but +I am a bad correspondent. The most of my time +away I spent in Sardinia. My mother was a native +of that country, and I find it most interesting."</p> + +<p>"I had heard you were making a prolonged stay +there. Indeed, I saw some mention of your movements +in the <i>Weekly Review</i>."</p> + +<p>Henry thought this an adroit remark, and fancied +it must lead to a confession, but his companion +merely inclined his head as if he had not quite +caught the words, and went on:</p> + +<p>"Ah, but Browning has expressed with grand +simplicity the impulse that sends the wanderer back—'Oh, +to be in England now that April's there!'"</p> + +<p>The chance had gone, "conversational openings" +were valueless to one pitted against Adrian Grant. +Henry fumbled nervously among the commonplaces +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 187]</span> +of speech, and his friend, with scarcely another +reference to himself, was presently making the +young journalist talk of—Henry Charles.</p> + +<p>"You seem to have been burning the midnight +oil too assiduously, I think. A trifle paler than +when I saw you last. Still grinding away, I +suppose."</p> + +<p>"Yes; it is grinding. I have moments when I +think journalism sheer hack-work. The glamour +of the thing is as delusive as the <i>ignis fatuus</i>."</p> + +<p>"And there you have life itself. <i>Ergo</i>, to +journalise is to live."</p> + +<p>"I begin to believe you are right, but I could +have wished to make the discovery later."</p> + +<p>"It's never too early to know the truth. But +come, you are surely thriving professionally, for I +heard your study of the Brontë's which you wrote +for the <i>Lyceum</i> highly praised by the editor when +I was in London last week."</p> + +<p>"That is indeed welcome news. You know +Swainton, then?"</p> + +<p>"A little. You see, I have done some work for +him myself. The fact is—"</p> + +<p>"Are you Adrian Grant?"</p> + +<p>Henry blurted out the question and eyed his +friend eagerly, nervously, ashamed of his clumsiness +and desperate to have done with it. Without +a tremor of his eyelids the other replied: +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 188]</span></p> + +<p>"Since you put it so bluntly—I am. But I +have peculiar ideas of authorship, and you will +search my rooms in vain for any book or article +I have written. My conception of literature is an +artistic expression of what life has told me. I say +my say and have done with that work. I say it +as it pleases my artistic sense, and I pass to some +other phase of life that attracts me and asks me +to express it. To the profession of letters I have +no strong attachment. To live is better than to +write. I know some Sardinian peasants who are +kings compared with Tennyson—yes, I will say +Tennyson."</p> + +<p>Henry was dumb at the vagaries of the man.</p> + +<p>"The craft of letters," he went on, "I know only +as a branch of life, and far from the noblest."</p> + +<p>Adrian Grant could make a thousand pounds, +perhaps two, out of any novel he now cared to +write. The thought flashed through Henry's mind +and left confusion in its tract. What were fame, +success, fortune, if one who had won them set +such small store thereby?</p> + +<p>"I have no wish to be associated with my +books," he continued. "The reverse. All great +art should be anonymous. Think of the precious +sculptures of Greece, the work of unknown men +who knew that the joy of expressing truth was +immortal fame. It is a stupid convention of a +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 189]</span> +stupid age that a book should bear an author's +name. My own name is scarcely pleasant to eye +or ear; but I do not quarrel with a scurvy trick +of Fate. It tickets the man, and that is enough. +My pen-name has served its purpose in securing +a sort of impersonal appeal for my books, which +cease to be mine once the printer has done his +work. You will never, I hope, identify me with +my works in anything you may write. I am +taking steps to prevent such senseless twaddle +about Adrian Grant as appeared in the <i>Weekly +Review</i> from becoming general. Who betrayed +my secret I know not."</p> + +<p>"You will find it difficult to contradict."</p> + +<p>"No doubt, but once contradicted by my solicitors, +who shall be able to swear to its truth?"</p> + +<p>"But why suppress truth, since your aim is to +express it?" asked Henry laughingly.</p> + +<p>"Ah, there we have to use the word in its +common commercial sense. The truth that my +name is what it is, and the truth that life is an +Armageddon, a phantasmagoria, have no relationship."</p> + +<p>Mr. P. had risen to the passionate height of his +unforgotten first meeting with Henry, whose mind +was now swaying in a chaos of wild and whirling +thought at the touch of this strange creature.</p> + +<p>"But there," exclaimed the novelist savagely, +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 190]</span> +"let us talk of simpler things," and he threw +himself into the chair he had vacated to pace the +room. "You say you are less enamoured of your +work than you used to be. I can understand it, +and I should like to help you. From what I have +seen of you, the more literary work of a high-class +journal would suit you better; give you +the chance to express yourself—if you have +anything to express—and I think you have some +sense of style, though your ideas are deplorably +British—that is to say, Philistine."</p> + +<p>"Do you really think I might succeed in +London?" Henry asked, ignoring the sneer at his +ideas.</p> + +<p>"Succeed as the world accounts success, most +probably. You have the dogged British quality +of sticking to a thing, or you'd never have been +where you are so soon. But it's soulless work +churning out this political twaddle."</p> + +<p>"I realise that, and I'm no politician; only one +by force, so to speak. You see, I write for a +living."</p> + +<p>"A terrible condition, but there is worse. Well, +there is some zest, at least, in getting into handgrips +with London. If you've a stomach for the +fray, I could help. The whole scheme of life there +is different. The provinces have nothing to compare +with it, as you would soon discover." +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 191]</span></p> + +<p>"But I believe it would be best to try my fortune +as soon as I could."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's well to know the worst early," and Mr. +P. gave a melancholy smile. "If you care, I shall +mention you to Swainton of the <i>Lyceum</i>. I have +some influence with him, I fancy; and he knows +you already as a promising contributor."</p> + +<p>"I should be most grateful," said Henry, not +without misgivings.</p> + +<p>But his mind was now trained direct on London, +his earliest ambition. He had made his way with +surprising quickness in the provinces, and still he +was not happy.</p> + +<p>"Who is happy?" asked his friend. "Call no +man happy until he is dead!—Solon was at his +wisest there."</p> + +<p>"Happiness is worth pursuing, all the same," +Henry returned, lamely enough, since he allowed +the pagan fallacy to pass unquestioned. "I shan't +be happy till I try my luck in London; and if +not then—well, we'll see."</p> + +<p>Truly, his mind was seriously unsettled by the +spell of this man's strange personality.</p> + +<p>Henry's eyes were turned to London, but he was +soon to find that there was one person who did not +relish the prospect, for reasons of her own. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_192" id="Pg_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>THE WAY OF A WOMAN</h3> + +<p class="noindent">"<span class="smcap">What</span> makes you think of London, when you're +doing so well in Laysford?" Flo Winton asked +her sweetheart, strolling one Sunday by the banks +of the Lays.</p> + +<p>"But well in Laysford may be ill in London," +he replied.</p> + +<p>"That's just it. Why not be content, and don't +play the dog with the bone?"</p> + +<p>A woman seldom sees beyond the end of her +nose. Flo Winton was no doubt perfectly honest +in her counsel to Henry, and entirely selfish. Let +his professional chances go hang; he was doing +pretty well in Laysford, and she rather fancied the +town as a place to live in. Besides, "out of sight, +out of mind."</p> + +<p>"It is the reverse from the dog and the bone," +returned Henry. "What I now hold is little +better than the mere shadow of success, the real +thing is only to be found in Fleet Street. Comfort, +food, raiment, furniture, money to spend—these +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 193]</span> +can be earned in the provinces, but the +success I aim at must be sought in London."</p> + +<p>"Dear me! And what will you do with it +when you've found it—if you ever do so?"</p> + +<p>This was scarcely lover-like, and Henry felt +the implied sneer; but he was determined not to +be shaken from his plan. He did not answer +Flo.</p> + +<p>"Money to keep a nice home and go about +a bit among the smart set of the town—isn't +that success?" she continued. "You are working +that way here. You're a somebody here; in +London you'd be one of the crowd. At least, +that's what I believe."</p> + +<p>"And I too, Flo. Fancy being a somebody in a +town whose Lord Mayor can barely sign his name, +whose chief constable is a habitual drunkard, +whose town clerk wouldn't be fit for devilling to +a London barrister, whose whole corporation is a +gang of plunderers scheming for their own ends. +Fancy having to whitewash these ruffians in my leading +articles. A somebody! Rather the millioneth +man in London than the first in Laysford."</p> + +<p>This looked bad for Flo; her reason for his +staying was his own reason for wishing himself +away. Henry was horridly honest and absurdly +upright to be a newspaper editor in a thriving +provincial town. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 194]</span></p> + +<p>"I tell you frankly," he went on, while Flo +walked now in moody silence by his side, "I +could never settle down in Laysford. Any ass +with money is courted here."</p> + +<p>"And it's the same everywhere; the same in +London," she snapped.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps; only in London you can avoid the +society of the money-grubbers, and find a congenial +clime where the foul element does not enter. +You see, London isn't a town; it's a country, and +there are communities of kindred interests within +its borders."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I can gather as much from my inquiries, +and from what I read."</p> + +<p>"A lot of use that is. I know it's fearfully +expensive to live in London."</p> + +<p>"But one can make more money."</p> + +<p>"I thought you despised money-grubbing."</p> + +<p>"For the mere sake of the grubbing, yes. But +where it costs more to live there is usually more +to live for, and more means of earning the +necessary cash."</p> + +<p>"Money; you simply can't get away from it, yet +you sneer at the wealthy folk here. You only wish +you had half of their complaint, as the thirsty cabby +said of the drunk who was supposed to be ill."</p> + +<p>Flo laughed aridly at her simile, without +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 195]</span> +looking her companion in the face. Henry +felt irritated by her as never before. But his teeth +were set. Both kept silence for a time.</p> + +<p>"Of course you never think of me," said Flo +at length, trailing her sunshade among the pebbles.</p> + +<p>"That's just what I do, though."</p> + +<p>"How kind of you!"</p> + +<p>The sneer froze Henry like a sudden frost.</p> + +<p>"Men are such unselfish things, to be sure," +she went on; the ice thickening rapidly.</p> + +<p>Henry had really thought a great deal about +her, and not without some misgivings. He had +seen himself a successful worker in Fleet Street, +with a dainty house out Hampstead way—he did +not know where that might be, but he thought it +was the literary quarter—and Flo looking her +best as mistress of that home, with many a notable +personage for guest. But he had also moments +when he wondered if he were not a fool to +bother his head about her, and when she said, +"How kind of you!" he was glad they were not +married yet. For all that, if Flo insisted, he +supposed it would have to be, though there had +been no arrangement in so many binding words. +He was inclined to let her have to insist, however; +and if she did—why, life would be ever after the +making the best of a bad job. Not a healthy +condition of love, it will be perceived. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 196]</span></p> + +<p>As they were nearing the Wintons' again, +Henry thawed a little.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you really like to live in London, +Flo?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, and perhaps not. No doubt I would. +But what I don't like—and I may as well be +frank about it—is living here and you in London."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but that need not be for long," Henry +returned kindly.</p> + +<p>"So you say. But one never knows."</p> + +<p>She was honestly unhappy at the idea of his +leaving her, and Henry, when he understood this, +felt his heart rise a little in sympathy—the +swelling had gone down since we last saw them +together. But he did not guess that he was +pleased rather by the flattering thought that she +would miss him, than softened by the sentiment +of leaving her behind him.</p> + +<p>"After all," he said, "I'm not away yet."</p> + +<p>"It's that horrid Puddy—what-you-call-him—that's +to blame for stuffing your head with ideas of +throwing up such a good post as you have. Take +my advice, Henry, stay where you are, for a while +at any rate. There's a dear, good fellow!"</p> + +<p>But the dear, good fellow kissed Flo somewhat +frigidly when he parted from her that night, and +decided that Adrian Grant was right in his estimate +of women as creatures who, in the mass, had no +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 197]</span> +ideas beyond social comfort, no ambition higher +than "society," and who were only interested in the +projects of men to the extent these might advance +their own selfish desires.</p> + +<p>"She said I never considered her. By Jove, I +could wish I did not," Henry reflected, biting his +moustache savagely in his mood of discontent. "I +wonder what P. would think of her?"</p> + +<p>When a man wonders what another would +think of his sweetheart it is a cloudy day for +the latter. When the man hesitates, the woman +is lost.</p> + +<p>Mr. P. had never encountered Miss Winton; but +a few days after the frosty episode in her love-story, +Henry and his friend met Flo in the market-place, +and stopping, she was introduced. This not +without qualms to Henry, who could scarce avoid +the meeting, and was yet loth to present his friend +to Flo, in view of her expressed dislike for him. +But the ready courtesy and charming manner of +the author-musician seemed to please her, and to +Henry's surprise, her eyes, her smiles, were more for +Mr. P. than for himself. She could be most attractive +when she liked, this young lady who had called +his friend "horrid," and was absurdly opposed to his +dream of London. Henry did not know whether to +be pleased or disappointed at the bearing of Miss +Winton. He was glad she had not been cold to Mr. P., +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 198]</span> +hurt that she was pleasant—so superfluously pleasant. +On the whole, he was irritated, uneasy.</p> + +<p>Something in the manner of his friend contributed +to this result. Not a word had been spoken in the +short conversation on the pavement of the old +market-place to awaken or enliven doubt or jealousy, +but there was an indefinable something in Mr. P.'s +manner to Flo, and his remarks when they parted +from her, to indicate that he had not been favourably +impressed.</p> + +<p>A year or two ago happiness seemed such an +easy thing—so simple, so difficult to escape—that by +contrast, Henry's present state of querulous unrest +put it as far away as a fog removes the wonted +position of a prominent landmark. He had an +inclination to kick somebody—himself, deservedly. +Could Flo be right about settling down in Laysford, +where he was a potential "somebody"? Suppose he +had an opportunity to go to London now, should +he take it? If the man who wrote as Adrian +Grant had unsettled his mind so far as his old +simple faith in God's goodness and mercy was +concerned, and Stratford and Wheelton and Laysford +together had muddied his pictures of journalism, +and even Flo had clouded his thoughts of happiness, +what was worth while? Might London be all he +had painted it? Was it to be "never glad, confident +morning again"? +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 199]</span></p> + +<p>Such was the muddle of Henry's mind when the +two returned to Mrs. Arkwright's from their afternoon +stroll, and each went to his own rooms. +Henry threw himself into an arm-chair and gave +himself up to brooding thoughts—dark, distracting. +He was not long alone, for his fellow-lodger +came to his door in the space of five minutes, +with a letter open in his hand and a smiling face, +which betokened good news.</p> + +<p>"How's this for a piece of fortune?" he exclaimed, +stepping briskly towards Henry, and handing him +the letter. "Read. It has just come with the +afternoon post."</p> + +<p>What Henry read was a brief note from Mr. +Swainton of the <i>Lyceum</i>, saying, that, curiously +enough, the very week he had received Mr. P.'s +letter asking him if he knew of any suitable post +for his friend, Mr. Charles, the editor of the +<i>Watchman</i> had mentioned that he was on the lookout +for a smart young journalist as assistant editor +of that weekly review. He had spoken to him of +Mr. Charles, and he now wrote to say that if the +latter would run up to town and see Mr. Godfrey +Pilkington, the gentleman in question, he might +"pull off" the job. It would be worth £350 a +year, he fancied.</p> + +<p>Good news, indeed. At the magic touch of +"London" Henry's doubts were dissipated. They +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 200]</span> +had existed only while the prospect still seemed +to be uncertain. He would have preferred an +editorship; but an assistant in London was (he +imagined) as good as any editor in the provinces.</p> + +<p>"You know the <i>Watchman</i>, I suppose?" said Mr. +P., who had closely observed the young editor's +delighted expression while reading the letter.</p> + +<p>"Know it? I should think I do," he answered, +with his old buoyancy of spirit. "A perfect production, +the best of all the sixpenny weeklies, +although it is the youngest. How can I thank +you?"</p> + +<p>"Not so fast; you've still 'to pull it off,' as +Swainton says. All that I have done has been +to open the door for you."</p> + +<p>"But isn't that everything?"</p> + +<p>"Almost, but not quite. If Henry Charles is +found 'as advertised,' all will be well. Something, +you see, depends on yourself."</p> + +<p>"Get it or not, I'm eternally your debtor. Anyhow, +my varied experience should be of value, +though they usually hanker after university chaps +on these weekly reviews. But the <i>Watchman</i> is +a rare old Tory, and here I'm shrieking Radicalism +at five pound a week."</p> + +<p>"Don't let that disturb you. I fancy your +politics are of no importance. It's your journalistic +knowledge that's wanted. To make up the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 201]</span> +paper, arrange the book reviews, write some of +them—the paragraphs and so forth. Pilkington is +a society fellow who takes life easily, and wants +a competent sub. That's about the situation, I +should say. I believe Lord Dingleton finances +the paper as a hobby."</p> + +<p>"In any case, it would mean a footing in London, +and that is all I want."</p> + +<p>"I am confident you'll suit, and although I +advise you not to build too much on London, I +believe it's worth having a try at—if only to +knock on the head your romantic notions of life +there. When will you go?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow; first train; back in the evening. +Nobody the wiser if it doesn't come off."</p> + +<p>But it did; and for good or ill, with scarce +a thought of Flo, Henry returned to Laysford +engaged as assistant-editor of the <i>Watchman</i>, on +the understanding that he would start as soon +as he could possibly get away from the <i>Leader</i>. +The gentleman then assisting Mr. Pilkington was +a distinguished Oxford man, oozing learning at +every pore, but as incompetent a journalist as one +would meet within the radius of Newspaperland. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_202" id="Pg_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>IN LONDON TOWN</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">The</span> directors of the <i>Leader</i> were more gracious +about his resignation than Henry had expected. +Evidently, although quite satisfied with his work, +they did not apprehend any insurmountable difficulty +in securing a successor. The manager hinted (after +Henry's going was certain) that rather than have +had the trouble of changing editors, they might even +have arranged to advance his salary—supreme proof +that he had not been without his merits in the eyes +of his employers. Mr Jones, by virtue of his superior +years, took leave to warn him of the gravity of the +step he was taking, and assured him that at £350 +a year in London he would be no better off than +he was with £100 less in Laysford. For one brief +moment Flo's desire that he should stay passed +through his mind, but in his heart he knew that +it was not entirely a matter of money, and he set +his teeth to "Now or never."</p> + +<p>When it had been arranged that he was to leave +the <i>Leader</i>, the manager exhibited almost indecent +haste in appointing his successor, and was careful +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 203]</span> +to remind him that although, as events turned out, +he would be free to go in a month's time, the +Company was entitled to at least three months' +notice, and possibly six. Mr. Jones had a habit of +making generosity fit in with business; he did not +mention that he had secured a successor who was +to receive £50 a year less than Henry had been +getting. At one time an editor of the <i>Leader</i> had +been paid as much as £750 a year, but that was in +the days of a showy start, when money went out +more rapidly than it came in, and during the succeeding +years the pay-books would show a steady decline +in the rate of editorial salaries. By strict limitation +of payments, Mr. Jones was steadily increasing the +dividends of the shareholders, and steadily depreciating +the standard of the staff. The day that +Henry left, the literary touch which Adrian Grant +and a limited few had noticed in the <i>Leader</i> under +his editorship disappeared, and the market and police +intelligence again gave the tone of the sheet.</p> + +<p>The most serious feature of his removal was the +conduct of Miss Winton, who gave him more than +one bad quarter of an hour for his selfishness in +actually accepting the engagement "without a +single thought of her." Flo harped so steadily on +this note, that Henry was half-persuaded he was +indeed a shamefully selfish young man; and when +he closely examined his conduct, he wondered +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 204]</span> +whether the satisfaction with which he had reported +his fortune to his father arose from filial affection +or from downright vanity.</p> + +<p>The upshot of Miss Winton's exposition of his +selfishness and her tearful protestations against his +deserting her was a formal engagement, where only +an "understanding" had existed before. This +seemed to still her anxious heart, but Henry had +made the proposition with none of the fervour with +which more than once in fancy he had seen himself +begging for her hand. In truth, his heart misgave +him, and he did not mention the matter in any of +his letters home. He rightly judged that such +news might dull the keen edge of pleasure his +London appointment would afford to his own +folk at Hampton. He did not even mention it to +Mr. Puddephatt. For the first time in his life he +felt himself something of a dissembler. In this way +his removal to London rather aggravated his state +of mental unrest than modified it. His brightest +dream had come true, but—</p> + +<p>The first weeks in London, however, were so full +of new sensations and agreeable distractions, that +he had scarcely been a fortnight away from Laysford +when it looked like a year. To walk down Fleet +Street and the Strand each day, or to thread the +old byways between the Embankment and Holborn, +with the knowledge that no excursion train was +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 205]</span> +to rush him off northward at the end of fourteen +days, was a pleasure which only the provincial +settling in London could enjoy. How he had +longed for years to tread these pavements as a +resident, and not merely as a gaping visitor. His +feet gripped them while he walked, as though he +thought at every stride, "Ye are firm beneath me +at last, O Streets of London!"</p> + +<p>Fleet Street, he knew in his heart, was outwardly +as shabby a thoroughfare as ever served for the +main artery of a great city, but he also knew that +if the buildings were mean and the crowd that +surged along its pavements as common to the +eye as any in the frowsiest provincial city, there +was more romance behind many of these shabby +windows which bore the names of journals, famous +and obscure, than in stately Whitehall or in Park +Lane. The hum of printing-presses from dingy +basements, the smell of printer's ink from many +open doors, had a charm for him which perversely +recalled the scent of new-mown hay in a Hampton +meadow long years before.</p> + +<p>At first, he rarely passed a street without noting +its name, an odd building without finding something +to engage his interest, a man of uncommon +aspect without wondering who he might be—what +paper did he edit? But soon his daily walk +from his lodgings in Woburn Place to the office +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 206]</span> +of the <i>Watchman</i> opposite the Law Courts was +performed with less attention to the common +objects of the route.</p> + +<p>A sausage shop hard by his office, sending forth +at all hours of the day a strong odour of frying +fat and onions, remained the freshest of his +impressions; he never passed it without thinking +of its impertinence in such a quarter; but one day +he discovered that it was not without claim to +literary associations.</p> + +<p>A young man with a chin that had required +a shave for at least three days, wearing a shabby +black mackintosh suggestive of shabbier things +below, and boots much down at heel, came out +of the shop with the aroma of sausage and onion +strong upon him, and the fag-end of a savoury +mouthful in the act of descending his throat. +Something in the features of this dilapidated +person struck Henry as oddly familiar, so that he +glanced at him intently, and looked back, still +puzzling as to who the fellow could be, when he +found the shabby one looking at him, and evidently +equally exercised concerning his identity. +After a moment's hesitation, Henry walked back +to him, and the sausage-eater flushed as he said:</p> + +<p>"Why, Hen—Mr. Charles—can it be you? I +knew you were in London, and had half a mind +to call on you, but you—well—" +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 207]</span></p> + +<p>The reason why was too obvious to call for +explanation.</p> + +<p>Henry himself was quite as much confused as +the speaker. It was a shock to him to recognise +in the person before him none other than one +who had first pointed out to him the road to +Journalism—"Trevor Smith, if you please."</p> + +<p>What a change from those Stratford days, when +he had talked so jauntily of fortunes made in +Fleet Street, so hopefully of the coming of his +own chance there. The greasy hat was worn +with none of the old rakish air, but served only +as a sorry covering for unkempt locks; and if +London streets were paved with gold, the precious +metal had worn away the heels of Trevor's boots +as surely as any of the baser sorts.</p> + +<p>It was difficult for one so transparently honest +as Henry to pretend not to notice the pitiable +condition of his old friend, and there was a +forced cordiality in his tone when he greeted +him.</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, I am delighted to meet you +again. Odd, isn't it, that we should meet among +London's millions? Come along with me to the +Press Restaurant for a bit of lunch and a chat +over old times."</p> + +<p>"Thank you very much," said Trevor, "but the +fact is I have just had something to eat—" +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 208]</span></p> + +<p>"Never mind that; so have I. Let it be coffee +and a chat."</p> + +<p>Together they crossed the street and sought +out a remote corner of the restaurant, where, +despite his protestations, Trevor submitted to +adding two poached eggs on toast to the +sumptous repast he had taken at the sausage-shop.</p> + +<p>The story he had to tell was as threadbare as +his clothes; with variations, it might stand for that +of fifty per cent, of Fleet Street's wrecks; the other +moiety being explained by the one word, Drink.</p> + +<p>Some two years after Henry left Wheelton the +Stratford edition of the <i>Guardian</i> had been discontinued. +Despite the brilliancy of the "Notes and +Comments" from Trevor's pungent pen, the number +of copies sold brought no profit to the proprietors, +and the journalist who had demanded weekly "the +liberty to know, to think, and to utter freely above +all other liberties," was given the liberty to find +another situation. Every effort to secure a reportership +had failed, though he confessed to having +answered upwards of eighty advertisements; and +then, as a last resource, he had found his way +to London, which calls for only those who have +fought and won their fight in the provinces, but +receives with every one such a waggon-load of +wastrels.</p> + +<p>"And now?" asked Henry. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 209]</span></p> + +<p>"Writing introductions about different towns for +the British Directories, Limited, at half-a-crown a +thousand words. Some weeks it means as much +as fifteen shillings, but the job will soon be finished, +and I see nothing ahead of it."</p> + +<p>Trevor was near to weeping point, but perhaps +Henry was more affected than he by the recital +of his woes. Gone was every vestige of his old +journalistic chatter, and in the very highway of +the profession he ranked as an alien compared with +the position he had held when he and Henry lodged +together at Stratford. Stranger still, in dropping +the old jargon of the newspaper man, he seemed +to have lost even the confidence to ask a loan now +that he stood more in need of it, and Henry could +better spare the money.</p> + +<p>It was left to Henry to suggest that perhaps the +loan of a pound, "as between two fellow-journalists," +would not be amiss. "Most men of letters," he +added kindly, "have at one time or other experienced +reverses of fortune. There is no hurry for +repayment."</p> + +<p>"I am most grateful; you are indeed a good +friend to me," said Trevor, not without a touch of +real emotion; "and if only I can get <i>Jinks's Weekly</i> +to use a three-guinea article on 'A Week in a Dosshouse,' +you shall have the money back soon. They +took an article from me—nearly two years ago—on +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 210]</span> +'Fortunes made in Journalism.' I got four guineas +for it; but it was the only thing of any length I +have managed to place since coming to town."</p> + +<p>The odd couple parted at the restaurant door, +and Trevor Smith shuffled off Strandwards without +any profuse thanks, for he was one of those who, +lacking both the capacity and the opportunity to +succeed, when overtaken by misfortune become so +shrivelled in character that they display not even +the melancholy pluck necessary to mendicancy. +The chances were that he and Henry would never +meet again. The stout ship under full sail had +sighted the derelict for a moment—that was all. +Like so many of his kind, Trevor Smith was fated +to sink out of sight in the dark, mysterious oubliette +of London's failures.</p> + +<p>The assistant editor of the <i>Watchman</i> returned +to his office almost as sad at heart, if not more so, +than the man he had left, whose heart was numbed +and passionless.</p> + +<p>The office of his paper was scarcely so elegant +as he had once imagined all London editorial +quarters to be. The entrance was a fairly wide +slit between a barber's and a tobacconist's, the +stairs as mean as those at the office of the <i>Wheelton +Guardian</i>; but the first floor, occupied by the +newspaper, was remarkably well furnished, Mr. +Godfrey Pilkington being a gentleman of some +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 211]</span> +taste, and the proprietor of the <i>Watchman</i> did not +stint him in such items of expense. At first Henry +had marvelled that a peer of the realm could have +deigned to mount such miserable stairs or to trust +his august person in elbowing between the barber's +and the tobacconist's, but he soon learned that the +most unpretentious accommodation on the highway +of journalism may cost as much as marble halls in +a provincial city.</p> + +<p>The editor, as Adrian Grant had hinted, was no +glutton for work, and an hour or two each day +appeared to satisfy his taste. Thus all the details +of the <i>Watchman</i> were left to Henry, the chief +articles being contributed by friends of Mr. +Pilkington. A cashier, a clerk, and an advertising +manager were the only members of the office +staff; and as the paper was distributed by a large +wholesale house, no business beyond the editorial +and advertising affairs of the <i>Watchman</i> was conducted +at the office. A very humdrum place, in +truth, except on the rare occasions when the lordly +proprietor put in an appearance, or Mr. Pilkington +received some political person with an axe to grind, +and an eye on the <i>Watchman</i>, as a possible grinder.</p> + +<p>For all that, the <i>Watchman</i> made a brave show +every Friday, and its articles were quoted widely +in the provincial Press as representing the weighty +opinion of Tory inner circles; and the more the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 212]</span> +<i>Watchman</i> was quoted the higher rose the hopes +of Mr. Pilkington that Lord Dingleton would +continue to bridge the monthly chasm which +yawned between the income of the <i>Watchman</i> and +the cost of its production, for—let us blab the +horrid truth, as yet unknown to Henry—the paper +was merely the expensive hobby of his lordship.</p> + +<p>On returning to his office after his encounter +with Trevor Smith, the young journalist was +surprised and delighted to find Adrian Grant +seated in his chair, and smoking the eternal +cigarette.</p> + +<p>"Thought I would just drop in to see how you +were getting along," the visitor said, rising and +shaking hands with his protégé. "Very comfortable +quarters here," glancing round Henry's +well-furnished room.</p> + +<p>"I had just been wondering this very day when +I should have the pleasure of seeing you again." +The sincerity of Henry's words was apparent +on his face.</p> + +<p>"I have only run up to town for a week or +two before leaving for another spell in Sardinia. +I am getting restless again, and there flow the +waters of Nepenthe. But the question is: How +are you?"</p> + +<p>"Pleased with my work, at least, I must say, +and fascinated by London. But only to-day I +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 213]</span> +have had a peep at its under side, and I fear that +the less one knows of that the better for one's +peace."</p> + +<p>"'See all, nor be afraid.' Surely you will let +Browning advise you if that decadent Adrian Grant +is too pessimistic for your healthy British taste," +said the visitor, with the hint of a smile. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_214" id="Pg_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>THE PEN AND PENCIL CLUB</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">The</span> "Magpie" is, or was, a hotel of the good +old-fashioned homely type, standing in a street off +the Strand, in the Adelphi quarter. One must +speak thus indefinitely, since the whole face of +the neighbourhood has been transformed within +recent years, and many a memory-laden house +demolished. At the "Magpie" the era of electric +bells, elevators, ostentation, had produced no +effect, and within hail of many <i>caravansérais</i>, +where the pomp and circumstance of King Money +might have been seen in all its extravagance, the +"Magpie" retained its flavour of old-time cosiness +and plainness.</p> + +<p>It was a hotel much frequented by the better +class of country visitors; the London man of +fashion never strayed within its portals. But here, +by reason of the retired situation of the place, the +accommodation of the rooms, and in some degree +(we may suppose) the moderate terms, the headquarters +of the Pen and Pencil Club were situated. +Less than three hundred yards away, the Strand +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 215]</span> +was a turgid stream of noises; here was a backwater +startlingly quiet.</p> + +<p>Though certain of the vulgar upstarts, who manage +to sneak into every community of proper men, not +excepting literary clubland, complained that they +could not get eatable food at the "Magpie," the +members of the club, as a whole, did eat with some +heartiness whenever they assembled around the +board, which was twice a month during autumn +and winter. Few of the members turned up in +evening dress; the average author does not find +it necessary to entirely expose his shirt-front when +he sits down to his evening meal. Something of +the older Bohemianism hung, like lavender in an +ancient chest, about the Pen and Pencil Club; from +which it will be understood that it was not exactly +the Bohemianism of dirty clothes and stale beer, +but rather that brotherliness which enables men +of kindred tastes and interests to dispense with +the artificial ceremonies of society.</p> + +<p>Such was the spirit of the company to which +Henry was introduced by his friend at the "Magpie." +The buzz of talk in the club-room dazed him a little +at first, and very timidly did he submit to be introduced +to this celebrity and to that. Most of the +members and guests assembled were standing +talking familiarly, awaiting the summons to dinner.</p> + +<p>"Let me introduce my friend Mr. Charles, of the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 216]</span> +<i>Watchman</i>, Mr. Angus St. Clair," said Mr. P., thus +mentioning the name of a world-famous Scottish +novelist, with whom Henry almost funked shaking +hands.</p> + +<p>Yet Mr. Sinclair was scarcely so impressive to +gaze upon as many a City clerk; far less so than +any young man behind a draper's counter in Oxford +Street. He was below medium height, quite without +distinction of features, and wore a faded brown suit. +Withal, his publishers could sell fifty thousand copies +of any book he cared to write, and the Press of the +Anglo-Saxon race resounded with anecdotes about +him.</p> + +<p>"Ma name's pronounced Sinkler, but they pock-puddens +will ca' me St. Clair, so what can a body +do, Mr. Chairles?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Charles couldn't enlighten him; but his host +suggested that the Scotch didn't know how to pronounce +their own names, and weren't very particular +how they treated English ones. The secretary of the +club dragged Mr. Sinclair off before he could return +fire to introduce him to one craving his hand-shake, +and Mr. Puddephatt, who appeared to be known only +as Adrian Grant among the members, said to Henry +that whenever he saw Sinclair he thought of a boiled +egg, because the fellow seemed so small and thin +that he felt he could break his skull with a tap of +a spoon. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 217]</span></p> + +<p>"Ah, Mr. Grinton, how do you do?... My guest, +Mr. Charles, of the <i>Watchman</i>—a coming man, my +dear Grinton, a coming man."</p> + +<p>Mr. Edward Grinton shook hands with the coming +man, who was never in a more retiring mood.</p> + +<p>"I read the <i>Watchman</i>," he said, "and like it, but +I wish it wouldn't worry about my literary style. +The only test of merit in novels, Mr. Charles, is sales. +Ask at any bookseller if his customers care a straw for +literary style. They want a story, and I give 'em what +they—Ah, Tredgold! Still slogging at that play?" +and Mr. Grinton turned abruptly to another member +who had two plays running at London theatres, and, +in Grinton's phrase, "made pots of money."</p> + +<p>This Grinton no longer holds the bookstalls in the +palm of his hand. His star has set; but at that +time his stories sold enormously, and earned him a +large income. They were common trash, concerned +chiefly with mysterious murders, and each had a +startling picture on the cover, which the publisher +alleged was the chief cause of their success. He +had curly hair. That was the only thing about +him Henry noticed.</p> + +<p>In turn he was next introduced to Henry Davies, +the editor of the <i>Morning Sun</i>, the great Radical +daily—a man who stuttered strangely, and had +difficulty in saying that he was p—p—pleased to +m—m—meet Mr. Ch—Ch—Charles; Mr. Frederick +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 218]</span> +Fleming, the well-known dramatic critic of the <i>Daily +Journal</i>; and other celebrities whom he had long +worshipped from afar. The most ordinary mortals +all; not one of them had the mystic touch of Adrian +Grant, who seemed to Henry the most distinguished +man among the company.</p> + +<p>"Dinner is served, gentlemen," the waiter called, +in rousing tones, and instantly the babble ceased, +and members and guests filed out to the +dining-room.</p> + +<p>Henry was seated next to his host, and had on +his right Mr. Bone, the eminent publisher, who +happened to be the guest of Grinton, the novelist. +The lion lay down with the lamb in the Pen and +Pencil Club.</p> + +<p>It was the custom of the fraternity after dining +to carry on a discussion on some literary topic, +and to "talk shop" to their heart's content. The +chairman, Mr. Diamond Jones, a highly successful +literary critic, whose profound ignorance of +literature's deeper depths was the standing joke +of his fellow-clubmen, mentioned that they did +talk shop there, but contended that "literary shop" +was worth talking, as everybody was interested in +it; other "shop" was only "shop," and therefore +contemptible. Your literary worker has a fine +disdain for every branch of life but his own.</p> + +<p>The speaking was scarcely enthralling. It +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 219]</span> +happened to turn on the subject of humour in +literature, and a celebrated humorist opened the +discussion with some observations which suggested +(unfairly) that he knew very little of what he was +talking about. Apparently he had never heard +that Shakespeare was a humorist, or that Carlyle +was not devoid of the quality, or that Thackeray +had some of it, not to mention Dickens. Even +Meredith and Hardy escaped the notice of all the +speakers, who talked about most things but the +topic that had been introduced. Henry concluded +that the gifts of writing and oratory are +seldom wedded in the one. The best speaker was +a novelist, whose books were as free from humour +as Ireland is from snakes. He thought that +humour wasn't a high quality. Good for him that +he had none, as the great reading public likes a +man who is either as serious as an owl or as +giddy as a Merry Andrew. Sinclair was reputedly +a humorist, but it was difficult to get him to open +his mouth on the subject, and when he did the +company was in doubt whether to laugh or +applaud.</p> + +<p>"Humour," he said, in his drawling Scotch +accent, "is, according to Russell Lowell, the great +antiseptic of leeterature. For my pairt, 'werna +ma heart licht I wad dee.'" And he sat down.</p> + +<p>Really these great guns of literature thundered +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 220]</span> +no better than a twopenny cannon. Henry had +heard as good at a church debating society in +Wheelton. At least, the disparity was scarce +appreciable, and yet the men he had listened to +were, each of them, capable of great things pen +in hand; most of them would have been a loadstar +of interest in any large provincial city. They +were best beheld at a distance and behind the +glamour of their books, he thought.</p> + +<p>But he had reason to modify his opinion in the +light of the club-room gossip which followed the +dinner and discussion. He was soon tingling with +delight at hearing men whose names were widely +known discussing the affairs of the literary world. +He felt that he stood at the very fount of those +streams of gossip which flow far and wide through +the channels of the Press. He knew that many a +paragraph he had clipped from a London journal +and printed in his column in the <i>Laysford Leader</i> +had originated in the after-dinner chatter of his +club, or some such coterie. "I am informed that +Mr. Blank's next novel will deal with," or "My +readers may be interested to know that Mr. +So-and-So, the celebrated author of this or that, +is about to," or again, "Mr. Such-and-Such is +contemplating a holiday in Timbuctoo with a view +to local colour for his next romance, which has +been arranged to appear in"—he could now see +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 221]</span> +that these pleasant pars, with their delightful +"behind-the-scenes" flavour, grew out of meetings +like this.</p> + +<p>After leaving the "Magpie," Adrian Grant walked +with Henry as far as Long Acre, where the latter +could get a 'bus Bloomsburyward.</p> + +<p>"An interesting gathering," said the novelist; +"how did it impress you?"</p> + +<p>"Chiefly that distinguished authors are very +like human beings, on the whole."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad of that. Now you're learning. But +you'll find much true camaraderie among them, +if you allow for the little eccentricities of the +artistic temperament, which you are sure to notice +the more you know of them. I overheard a very +third-rate novelist to-night telling a guest that +his own books were divided into three periods; +the middle one being a bridge that linked the +two expressions of his mind together. Heavens! +I don't suppose there's a score of people in the +country who are the least concerned in his work. +But he's a good fellow for all his vanity. We're +all of us vain, more or less."</p> + +<p>"I was also struck by the number of well-known +people—men, I mean, whose names are +discussed throughout the whole country," Henry +observed. "It was difficult to realise the distinguished +nature of the company. You couldn't +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 222]</span> +see the wood for trees, if the simile will hold +water."</p> + +<p>"Quite so. Should you become as famous as +Maister Sinkler, you'll still find that in any club +you enter there will be someone better known +than yourself. That's the best of London. It +brings you to your level. Where life is prolific—look +at China—it is least valued. Where geniuses, +or men of talent, most abound, why, it's like +Gilbert's era, 'when dukes were four a penny.' +At best, you're only a bit of vegetable in London's +broth-pot. But it's good that it should be so. +In the country you are inclined to esteem yourself +too highly, and of all human follies that's the +worst."</p> + +<p>Mr. P.'s speech sounded like a literary setting +of Flo's opinion: "You're a somebody here; in +London you'd be one of the crowd."</p> + +<p>They walked without speaking through the musty-smelling +region of Covent Garden, and had reached +Long Acre before Henry broke the silence suddenly +by remarking, as if after much considering of the +point:</p> + +<p>"You said that one would find some true +camaraderie among the literary set. That scarcely +tallies with your rather pessimistic views of human +nature in general."</p> + +<p>"Well, after all, it's difficult to be consistent—and +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 223]</span> +speak your mind. My views of human nature +remain unchanged, and though, as you have said, +authors are very like folk, they do have a touch +of brotherliness which you will find in no other +profession; certainly not in the musical, of which +I know something. There may appear to be a +good deal of back-biting and jealousy among +literary men; but they are always ready to +encourage the new man, to applaud the conscientious +worker. Remember that most authors of genius +have first been proclaimed by their fellows of the +pen. In the nature of things it must be so. The +asinine public has to be told who are the writers +worth reading. Mind you, the duffer will get never +a leg up, and before any one gets a lift he has +to show himself worthy of it. But I suppose the +same might be said of the business world as well."</p> + +<p>"Do you think I'm going the right way for a +leg up, then?—if I may bore you with my own +petty affairs."</p> + +<p>"Not yet; but you'll soon be shaping that way. +This I realise: journalism will give any moderately +clever fellow a living, but even a genius will scarcely +win a reputation that way. Billy Ricketts writes +a book, and even if it's a bad one, Billy is for a +week or two more noticed in the papers than the +editor of the <i>Times</i> will be in five years. The +journalist who gives his best to his paper is a +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 224]</span> +pathetic figure—from the British or Henry Charles +point of view, I mean, as I'm looking at the situation +with your ideas to direct me, your view of success. +He is probably our nearest approach to the Greek +sculptors I seem to remember quoting to you once. +Anonymity is essential to the true artist, I hold; +and strangely, it is the newspaper man—none less +artistic—who conforms to this law in England, +perhaps unwillingly."</p> + +<p>"Of course, we'll never agree on that point," said +Henry, "as I'm all for personality."</p> + +<p>"So; that's what I know, and hence my line of +reasoning. Play up your personality for all it's +worth, and be happy. It's not my way; but no +matter. And to do so, journalism is at best only +a training school. What you must do is a book. +Once you make a moderate success with a book, +your precious personality has become a marketable +thing in modern Philistia."</p> + +<p>"You mean a novel, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"I mean a book. You're not a poet, or the song +within would have rilled out long ago. <i>Ergo</i>, it's +not a book of poetry. You have a literary touch, +and might do well in the essay; but essays are +'off' just now, says the Ass-in-Chief of the +great B. P. You haven't gone round the world on +your hands and knees, or walked from Charing +Cross to St. Paul's on your head—either of which +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 225]</span> +achievements would have given you copy for a +sensational book hot with personality, and made +you the most sought-after lecturer of the day. So +there remains only the novel, and the B. P. +shouts for more novel, like the whimpering +infant it is. Give it novel, my lad. You, as +well as anybody. That the novel has become a +contemptible convention of the publishing trade +is not its fault. Always remember we have +Meredith and Hardy and Stevenson writing +novels, and you will think well of that vehicle of +expression."</p> + +<p>"But I have no great impulse to write fiction. +I'd rather write about the men who write it," +Henry said.</p> + +<p>"A pity that; for little of real value is done +without the impulse. But one never knows. Try +and see. The impulse may follow in the same +sense that certain psychologists believe the simulation +of an emotion produces its effect. I like the +idea; but am not quite ready to accept it. +Reproduce the muscular expressions of sorrow or +joy, and you will after a time be sorrowful or +glad, says Nordau. There's something in the +thought, perhaps. Similarly, determine to write +a novel, and the mood for novel-writing will be +induced. I don't say I agree with the theory. +But it's worth a trial, and anyhow a novel is the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 226]</span> +easiest form in which to make a public appeal, +to make merchandise of your personality."</p> + +<p>Adrian Grant's face wore its half-cynical smile +as he said this, and extending his hand to Henry, +he added abruptly, as his manner was: "This is +your 'bus, I think; I must make for Kensington."</p> + +<p>Henry shook hands at once with a hurried +expression of thanks for his friend's kindness, and +jumped on the 'bus, while Mr. P. hailed a passing +hansom, and set out for his rooms in Gloucester +Road.</p> + +<p>Vague and confused were the thoughts of Henry +as the 'bus lumbered its way by historic Drury +Lane and across Holborn, to his door in Bloomsbury. +A 'bus ride was still full of romance to +him, and the glimmering lamps of London were +dearer to his mind than "the swing of Pleiades"; +every jingling cab that passed, every lighted +window, was touched with romance in his eyes. +To make this wondrous City listen to him—how +the dream thrilled him! That the unknown +thousands who flitted through these world-famous +streets, and lived behind these lighted windows, +might read what he wrote and know him for the +writer—it was worth trying for. Already he had +seen his book brave in bright gilt, shouldering the +best of them in the book-shops of Holborn and +the Strand; he could read the reviews distinctly: +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 227]</span> +noticed even the size and style of the type they +were set in, was gratified to find them so remarkably +favourable, and—"Wob'n Plice!" shouted the +conductor.</p> + +<p>Henry descended to asphalt, and was presently +putting on his slippers in his small sitting-room in +a Bloomsbury boarding-house. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_228" id="Pg_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>THREE LETTERS, AND SOME OTHERS</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">On</span> the mantelpiece of his room, set on end +against the little marble clock which ignored the +flight of time, Henry found three letters. He +examined the addresses and postmarks of each, +and saw at a glance that one was from his sister +Dora, another from Flo, and the third from Edgar +Winton. For a moment he hesitated, undecided +which to open first. Home for him had a far-off +call by now, and it was with the vague sense of +a dream that was past that he read Dora's +fortnightly letters. Flo—hers was a more recent +influence—and from a fascinating it had come to +be an irksome one: the more real by that token. +He burst open Edgar's letter with his forefinger, +and read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Henry,</span>—I've been going to write you +any time these last six weeks, but—well, old man, +I'm no hand at correspondence unless it's a penny +a line. Besides, I hear about you through Flo, +who is quite reconciled to your absence, which the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 229]</span> +poet tells us makes the heart grow fonder. I +wonder!</p> + +<p>"But first of all, you'll want an inside view of +the dear old rickety old <i>Leader</i>. Your successor +is a daisy, and no mistake. Walks into the office +in knickers and a cloth cap, and shaves once a +week when his beard is ready for clipping. Even +Dodge, the newest junior, sneers at him, and +refuses to recognise 'that josser' as editor. It's +hard cheese on a youngster to run up against a +weed like Steel for his first editor. Gives a low +idea of our noble profession, don't you know.</p> + +<p>"Steel's greatest feat has been to assault his +wife in the street while drunk (that's Steel, not +the wife, I mean, who was lushing), and get run +in; but a word from 'Puggie' [Mr. Albert Scriven, +the chief reporter, so called by reason of his +physical appearance], who happened to be at the +police station at the time, put the matter right, +and 'Puggie' took our warrior to his ''appy little +'ome.' It fell to my lot to vamp up the usual +editorial cackle myself that night, but I've got to +help the beauty most nights, as he doesn't like +work. Jones knows of his little exploits, but does +nothing. He's got him cheap, and that's enough +for him. Besides, nobody outside the office—and +nobody in it, for that matter—would believe that +Steel was editor of the paper, so Jones swaggers +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 230]</span> +about the town, and has taken to describing himself +as 'managing editor.' Oh, we enjoy life here! +there's a lot of fun in the game. Steel wonders +how the paper lived through the editorship of 'a +literary ass.' He isn't nuts on literature; but with +a pair of scissors, some gum, and a pencil, the +Johnnie can knock out leaders while you cough, +and the joke is nobody seems to be a bit the +worse. Hope you don't mind my telling you this; +but really, do you think anybody reads leaders? +I hope they don't read mine.</p> + +<p>"The <i>Leader</i> appeared four hours late yesterday. +What do you think of that? Jones again. He's a +treat. A cog-wheel of the Hoe machine burst, and +there wasn't a spare one in stock, nor in the town. +Though he had been warned months ago, when a +similar accident happened, that the last spare wheel +had been used, he would not spend the money to +stock one or two. We had to borrow one from the +<i>Milton Daily Post</i>. You are well out of the hole, +I can tell you.</p> + +<p>"I read the <i>Watchman</i> every week, and think +it immense; but you fly above me, old man. +I'm only a country scribbler, and must admire +you a long way off. I takes off my hat to you, +sir.</p> + +<p>"The mater is rather queer just now, and I +hope she isn't going to kipper. But one never can +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 231]</span> +tell. 'Our times are in His hand,' that's Browning, +isn't it? I saw it quoted the other day, and +managed to drag it into a leaderette this week. +Sounds well, I think.</p> + +<p>"Pater joins in kind regards—at least, I suppose +he does, though I haven't asked him—and Flo is +sending her warmest breathings direct, I understand. +—Believe me, ever thine,</p> + +<p class="right"> +"<span class="smcap">Edgar Winton.</span>" +</p> +</div> + +<p>Henry was inclined to resent the flippant tone +of the letter, the senseless slang; but he remembered +that it was "only Edgar's way," and stuffed +the sheets back into their envelope and into his +inside pocket. Flo's letter he turned over again +as he lifted it and Dora's from his knee. He +opened his sister's next, and laid the other down.</p> + +<p>It was the usual Hampton budget of uninteresting +details about the doings of that little community, +and Henry read it in his usual perfunctory way, +scarce recollecting the people whose names were +recalled by it. "Who on earth is old Gatepost? +I believe she means old John Crew, the farm +bailiff. I'm surprised he is only dying now. +Thought he would have been dead long ago." +Often his thoughts would run thus over some bit +of news from Dora. She seemed to write from out +the past. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 232]</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"Hoping you are well, as we all are when this +leaves. No more at present, from your loving +Sis."</p> +</div> + +<p>The phrase might have been stereotyped; it was +Dora's one form of "drawing to a close." Indeed, +she did not draw thither; she simply closed +according to formula when she had spun her +loose threads of news into some semblance of a +web of words.</p> + +<p>Dora's letter was presently keeping Edgar's +company, with many another tattered envelope +and note, in Henry's pocket.</p> + +<p>He turned to the third of the letters with no +apparent zest.</p> + +<p>"She writes a neat hand after all," he murmured, +as he scanned the superscription. A bad sign that. +A man in love should be the last person to ask +for an opinion of the handwriting of his sweetheart. +When he can speak with deliberation on the subject +or think of it with detachment, he has become +critical, and the end—happy or otherwise—is not +far off. Happy only if there is still time or courage +to draw back.</p> + +<p>"She writes a neat hand after all," said Henry, as +he rammed his finger into the flap of the scented +envelope and burst it open. "After all!" These +even more than the words preceding them were +suggestive. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 233]</span></p> + +<p>The hour was late, and who knows but that may, +to some extent, have been responsible for the +blinking mood in which the young man read his +sweetheart's letter? It was the typical feminine +scrawl, chiefly chatter about society doings in +Laysford.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"Oh, I'm becoming quite a giddy girl, dearest, +and me engaged. It's too awful. Just fancy, I've +been to three functions—<i>three</i>! Poor me that used +to go nowhere at all. The Mellises' garden party +was a very swell affair. I was there because I +teach the daughter the pianoforte—and a silly thing +she is. But—<i>don't</i> be angry now, Hal—who do +you think took me to the Mayor's reception? +Why, that terrible goose, Mr. Trentham, the +Mayor's secretary. You remember him? Short, +stout, fair moustache, but <i>always</i> well dressed. +Fancies himself, <i>rather</i>. He has asked me to +go with him to another reception, when some sort +of conference comes to Laysford. I don't know +what it is, but the receptions are all right. Lots +of fun and the best of everything. Perhaps you +wouldn't like me to go, dearest? But really you +needn't be <i>jealous</i>. Trentham is <i>really</i> a goose. +Only one is so dull, and then <i>everybody</i> knows I'm +engaged."</p> +</div> + +<p>Henry knew, certainly; and he had no doubt +the "everybody" was not unjustified. He accepted +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 234]</span> +the information without a pang of jealousy.</p> + +<p>"Everybody knows I'm engaged." Somehow, he +would not readily have confessed to delight in the +fact. Trentham he did not recall as suggestive +of the ungainly biped. "Rather a decent sort of +chap," thought Henry. "Not much in Flo's way, +I imagine." He blinked through the remainder of +the letter, never dreaming—though near to dreamtime—that +Trentham was wondering what Flo +could see in Henry Charles. The man who can +divine just why another man loves or admires one +woman, or why a woman "sees anything" in another +man, has yet to be born. He was certainly neither +Henry Charles nor Mr. Trentham.</p> + +<p>"Not a word from Flo about her mother," Henry +reflected, on his way to bed. "Just like her—all +about herself. I wonder if I'm an ass!"</p> + +<p>How unreasonable men are. Why should Flo +have written about anyone but herself?</p> + +<p>It was time for Henry to wonder. But he was +still wondering months later, when Trentham was +not.</p> + +<p>The fact is, this Trentham was a very fair +specimen of the average bull-headed Englishman, +and better than most in the eyes of Miss Winton, +since he enjoyed a private income, which made him +quite independent of the salary attaching to his +official position. His name cropped up frequently +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 235]</span> +for a time in Flo's letters to Henry, but the latter +scarcely referred to it in any of his replies, from which +Flo judged him jealous, and when Trentham had +never a mention from her, Henry supposed him +circling in some other orbit. Here, of course, he +was wrong, and he might have noticed a lowering +temperature in the tone of Flo's epistles. There +was still need to ask himself whether he was an +ass, and to answer in the affirmative. But he never +thought out an answer until one day it came ready-made +in a fine right-hander, which took his breath +away:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Henry,</span>—I am so sorry to tell you +that I cannot continue our engagement. My +affections have undergone a change, and I think +it best for both of us that we should not carry out +the engagement. I have promised to marry Mr. +Trentham, who really thought we were never +engaged. I haven't worn the ring much, as I didn't +care greatly for the style of it, and now return it. +I feel it is best for both of us to cease our correspondence. +I shall always wish you well.— +Sincerely yours,</p> + +<p class="right"> +"<span class="smcap">Flo Winton.</span>" +</p> +</div> + +<p>"An ass," undoubtedly. The thing that he had +often wished had happened, yet he felt chagrined, +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 236]</span> +and the sense of having been wronged leaped up +at him.</p> + +<p>"She has made a fool of me," thought Henry, +after reading the brief note, "and yet I'm glad." +But he was nothing of the kind. He knew that +he ought to be glad; he had hoped for this for +nearly a year in the odd moments when he saw +things clearly, and realised that Flo was receding +from the place she had once held in his esteem. +His visits to Laysford had not improved matters. +He was vexed, irritated, disappointed—anything +but glad. His self-esteem was wounded, and to +have avoided an injury there he would have faced +even the obligation he had entered into before +coming to London.</p> + +<p>"She has taken up Trentham because the +creature has a bit of money," he muttered savagely, +crumpling up the offending note, and then opening +it out to read the fateful words again. "So much +for women!" And he swept the sex aside for +the perfidy of this one, though the woman's very +selfishness was the saving of him.</p> + +<p>"Delighted!" he wrote in bold letters on a postcard, +and put her name and address on it. Then +he tore it up, and feared he was a cad to the +bargain.</p> + +<p>Delighted! He was miserable for three days, +until he could sit down and pen a sensible letter, +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 237]</span> +in which he expressed the opinion that Flo had +a better knowledge of her affections than he had, +and that while he would never have given her +the pain of breaking their engagement, he accepted +the situation with some philosophy, since it did +not altogether run against his own inclination.</p> + +<p>A silly affair enough, as he came to understand +once the final letter had been posted, and +even so he had a delusion that at some time he +had been actually in love with Flo. One cannot +tell whether she had any delusions on the same +object. She was not of the kind who dream +dreams.</p> + +<p>"I'm terribly sorry, old man, that Flo has cut +up this way," wrote Edgar. "I always fancied +you and she were engaged, but evidently not. +Trentham is a very decent sort. They're to be +married soon now that the mater is all right +again. Flo is nuts on 'style,' you know, and you +are not—unless it's literary style. After all, perhaps +it's for the best. I think everything is for the +best except what happens at the <i>Leader</i> office. +Steel still keeps the uneven tenor of his way. +I make wonderful progress. Don't gasp when +I tell you that, quite unsolicited, I got a rise +of half-a-crown last week. I think I shall +buy a motor-car with it. Fancy, Jones has +gone in for electric light. You wouldn't know the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 238]</span> +place now—the light shows up the dirt so +strongly."</p> + +<p>But Laysford had entirely lost interest for Henry +now. To fancy one has been in love is almost as +serious a condition as to be in love. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_239" id="Pg_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>"THAT BOOK"</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">Adrian Grant</span> had gone away to Sardinia, but +he had left Henry urged to the point of writing +"that book." At first Henry approached the task +with but little taste, for he had the good sense +to doubt whether his talent lay in the direction +of creative work, as the writing of fiction is so +comically miscalled. But the thing had to be +done, and as well now as again. At first progress +was slow, as book-reviewing for the <i>Watchman</i> +kept him busy most nights at home, while sub-editorial +duties filled out all too amply his office +hours. There was agony of mind in the writing +of the early chapters, and he had not gone far +when the rupture with Flo came to disturb his +thoughts and to agitate his feelings. But it +had the effect of setting him almost savagely to +his novel again, and gloomy was the atmosphere he +created in his chapters. It was a romance of town +and country life, and was entitled provisionally, +"Grey Life."</p> + +<p>For a while after Flo's exit from his life the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 240]</span> +book went ahead rapidly; then he set it aside +almost afraid to go on after reading what he had +written; it was so savage, so unlike anything he +had ever hoped to write. If at that time he could +have been impersonal enough in his criticism, he +would have seen at a glance that Adrian Grant +was not only responsible for his having essayed the +task, but that he had projected something of his +pessimism into the mind of the writer.</p> + +<p>The unfolding young editor, who had meant to +write such a scathing review of "Ashes," would +have been as incensed by the unhealthy gloom, +the wintry sadness, of "Grey Life." Of course, it +is to be remembered that the said young editor +had never delivered the terrible slating he intended +to devote to Adrian Grant's popular work, but he +had at least thought it, and believed it would have +been justified, even after he had written something +different. Though the morbidity of sex +was entirely absent from "Grey Life," it contained +a good deal that was as deserving of ban as +anything in "Ashes."</p> + +<p>When Mr. P. returned in the late autumn of +the year from his sojourn in the South, he asked +to be shown the manuscript, incomplete as it was; +and pronounced it good.</p> + +<p>"You've stuck almost in sight of the end," he said.</p> + +<p>"Wrecked in port," replied Henry, laughing. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 241]</span></p> + +<p>"Not quite wrecked, but floating rudderless. +There's no reason why this shouldn't hit—if you +want to make a hit. But it's generally books +that are published without intent to 'boom' that +stumble into success. At least, it's been so with +mine."</p> + +<p>"But I'm uneasy about it all. Don't you think +the picture intolerably grey?"</p> + +<p>"None too grey, my lad—grey is the colour of +life," said the man who had just come back from +cloudless blue skies and gorgeous sunsets.</p> + +<p>"Somehow I felt like that when writing, but +when I read it I have an inkling that life is +brighter than I have shown it to be; that +it's worth while living both in country and in +town."</p> + +<p>"It's not for me to advise one who has done +so well off his own bat, but I would suggest that +you work the thing out to its bitter end, keeping +true to the artistic impulse which will settle each +of the characters for you, and without you, if you +but let it have its sway."</p> + +<p>"But it would be a bitter end for two of them."</p> + +<p>"Precisely. For all of them, probably. It is +for most of us."</p> + +<p>"There I don't agree with you. Don't you +think the bitter end is at the beginning? The +book ends bitterly at the start, so to speak." +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 242]</span></p> + +<p>"I do, and I don't object to that in the least. +The fact is, you have subordinated your Philistine +nature most wonderfully, and are in a fair way to +produce a work of art, but here the Philistine +part of you comes uppermost at a critical moment, +and has its usual fit of remorse at a piece of +genuine art. I would not have credited you with +the capacity to produce such a work as this +manuscript contains. That is frank, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"And I ought to be flattered, I suppose. But +I'm not. I've been disillusioned all along the +line, but surely when the illusions fall away life +is not merely a corner for moping in. Besides, is +it a worthy work to disillusionise others?"</p> + +<p>"It is. It is the business of sane men to expose +for what they are the fools' paradises of the +world."</p> + +<p>"Surely not. Let the fools find it out themselves; +and if they never do, the better for them."</p> + +<p>"Look here, my young friend, your best plan is +to take a holiday at once and go down home for +two or three weeks, to get over this mood of contrariness. +I'm surprised that you've been slogging +away in London all through the stifling summer. +It was mere madness. You're suffering from +mental clog. Shake free of Fleet Street for a +week or two, and the book will finish, never fear. +Whatever you do, don't have one of those maudlin, +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 243]</span> +barley-sugar ends. Be true to life, and let all +else go. Perhaps a visit home would supply the +contrast necessary to re-start the mind."</p> + +<p>"I've been thinking of that this very day."</p> + +<p>"Then my advice is: Go. You're not looking +well. London is a hard task-master, and the slave +who runs to the eternal crack of his whip is by +way of being untimely worn out."</p> + +<p>The idea of spending an autumn holiday at home +had been with Henry for some time, even to the +exclusion of plans for a visit to the Continent, and +it was evidence of the influence this strange +friend had over him, that so soon as he suggested +it the project was distinctly forwarded.</p> + +<p>In another week he was to be homeward-bound: +heart-free, but disappointed. Successful in a sense, +and a failure in the light of his inner desires. +London had not brought him peace of mind, and +Hampton, he feared, would only bore him into +accepting the life of the City as the lesser of two +evils.</p> + +<p>If Henry could have looked inward then he would +have seen that all his uneasiness came from the +dragging of the old anchor of faith which began +long ago at Laysford on his first meeting with Mr. +Puddephatt. That, and naught else. Edward John +believed in the Bible <i>verbatim et litteratim</i>; worshipped +it with the superstitious awe wherewith a +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 244]</span> +sentimental woman bobs to tuppenceworth of stucco +and a penn'orth of paint fashioned into a Bambino; +would have believed it implicitly had the story ran +that Jonah swallowed the whale; and often, indeed, +expressed his readiness for that supreme test of +faith.</p> + +<p>To Henry, as to every young man who thinks, +came the inevitable collision between inherited +belief and acquired knowledge. Also the inevitable +wreckage. Many thousands had gone his road +before him, and more will follow. To the father +the roads of Knowledge and of Faith ran neatly +parallel, the one narrow and the other broad; +but as the son laboured at the widening of the +former, the road of Faith, trodden less and less, +was dwindling into a crooked and uncertain +footway. It's an old, old story—why say more +than that the miraculous basis of belief is a mere +quicksand when Knowledge attempts to stand +upon it?</p> + +<p>But Edward John was as much a man as his +son would ever be, and Henry could see that his +father was as important a unit in the Kingdom +of Heaven as he could hope to become. Was +Ignorance, then, the kindest friend? No, there must +be a way for the cultured as for the unlettered; +but was it a different way?</p> + +<p>Thus and so forth went the unrestful soul of +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 245]</span> +the young man, who was even then writing his +undecided mind into a novel, and by that token +giving evidence of an ignorance as essential +as his father's, different in kind but not in +degree. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_246" id="Pg_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>HOME AGAIN</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">Two</span> days before Henry had planned to leave +London for his holiday at home, Adrian Grant +looked in upon him hurriedly at the <i>Watchman</i> +office to ask if it were possible for him to secure +accommodation at Hampton.</p> + +<p>"You!" exclaimed Henry, in surprise, and something +akin to a feeling of shame for the meagre +possibilities of entertainment at his home flushed +his face.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" said his friend, with a smile. "I +know less than nothing of English rural life, and +it came to me as an inspiration this morning that +here was a chance to try the effect of country quiet +at home. I have a bit of work to finish, and most +of my writing has been done abroad in drowsy +places. Strange I have never tried our own rural +shades, though I produce but little either in London +or at Laysford."</p> + +<p>"It's an idea, certainly," Henry observed, in a +very uncertain tone. "I'm sorry my people—"</p> + +<p>"Of course, I would not dream of troubling your +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 247]</span> +folk, but I suppose there's such a thing as a village +inn even in your secluded corner of earth."</p> + +<p>"There's the 'Wings and Spur,' to be sure, but +I am doubtful of its comfort."</p> + +<p>"It's an inn, and that's enough for one who has +wandered strange roads," and the bright earnestness +of the novelist proved to Henry that he really +meant to carry out this whim of his.</p> + +<p>Nor did he fail to notice a strange elation of +manner in Mr. P. for which he could not satisfactorily +account.</p> + +<p>The incident, however, was the matter of a +moment, and the novelist went away as hurriedly +as he entered after ascertaining the train by which +Henry purposed travelling from St. Pancras, leaving +the journalist with the uncomfortable sense of being +party to some absurd freak.</p> + +<p>His wits were not nimble enough, thus suddenly +taxed, to see all sides of the project, and he swayed +between the pleasant thought of visiting his old +home in the company of one so distinguished as +Adrian Grant, and the dubious fear of the impression +which his humble relatives might make upon this +polished man of the world. His father's doubtful +h's sounded uncomfortably on the ear of his memory; +the prospect of his toil-worn mother entertaining +such a guest, if only for an occasional meal, seemed +too unlikely a thing to contemplate. He turned +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 248]</span> +again to his work with the wish that Adrian Grant +might stay in London, or find some other rural +retreat to suit his capricious taste.</p> + +<p>But it was necessary to warn the folks at home, +and to make the best of what might well prove an +awkward business. So Henry wrote to his father +that night, explaining that he was bringing a +distinguished visitor to the village, and though he +would reside at the inn, he would no doubt be a +good deal at their house. This he did after +having seriously debated with himself the idea of +writing to his friend and framing a set of excuses +or plausible reasons why he should not go. +Henry's ingenuity was not equal to that.</p> + +<p>All this explains why on a certain autumn +afternoon the Post Office of Hampton Bagot, and +indeed the whole of the village street, exhaled an +air of expectancy. There were hurried traffickings +between the shop of Edward John Charles, the +"Wings and Spur," the butcher's, and sundry +others. Perhaps the loudest note of warning that +an event of unusual interest portended was struck +by the bright red necktie which Edward John +Charles had donned at the urgent request of his +daughters. This was truly a matter for surprise, +for while he had been seen occasionally on weekdays +wearing a collar, the tie had always been a +Sunday vanity. His clothes, too, were his Sunday +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 249]</span> +best. His appearances at the door were frequent +and short, with no pleasant play of the coat-tails; +and his earnest questing glances towards the road +from the station, which opened into the main street +of the village some little distance east of the Post +Office, were foolishly unjustified before the dinner +hour, as there was no possibility of the visitors +arriving until the late afternoon.</p> + +<p>Customers at the Post Office were all condemned +to a delightfully exaggerated account of the "lit'ry +gent from Lunnon" who was to grace the village +with his presence and suffuse Henry Charles with +reflected glory, though it seemed a difficult thing +to conceive the pride of Hampton as in need of +glorifying. But the customers were as keen for +Edward John's gossip as he to purvey it, and it +is more than probable that several ounces of shag +were bought that day by persons who stood in +no immediate need of them, but were glad of an +excuse for a chat with the postmaster. Even the +snivelling Miffin shuffled across with such an +excuse for a chat, and returned to tell his +apprentice that he could see no reason for all +this "'ow d'y' do."</p> + +<p>"S'possin' there was a railway haccident! +Stranger things 'ave 'appened, merk moi werds," +said he, with a waggle of his forefinger in the +direction of his junior, who, though much in use +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 250]</span> +as an object for Miffin's addressing, seldom had the +courage to comment upon his employer's opinions.</p> + +<p>At the "Wings and Spur," as the afternoon wore +on, there was also the unusual excitement of +despatching a creaky old gig to the station to +bring up the travellers, and Edward John must +needs wander down to exchange opinions with his +friend Mr. Jukes as the vehicle was being got ready.</p> + +<p>Even the aged vicar was among the callers at +the Post Office, inquiring if it was certain that +Henry would be at home for the next Sunday, +as that day was to be memorable by the preaching +of Mr. Godfrey Needham's farewell sermon, and +nothing would please him better than to see among +his congregation "one over whom he had watched +with interest and admiration from his earliest +years."</p> + +<p>Time had dealt severely with the once quaint +and sprightly figure of this good man. Since +Eunice had taken him in hand he had lost his +old eccentric touches of habit, but year by year +age had slackened his gait and slowed him down +to a grey-haired, tottering figure, who, when we +first saw him, took the village street like the +rising wind. He had now decided to give up the +hard work of his parish and his pulpit, and this +was to devolve upon an alert young curate who +had recently been appointed. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 251]</span></p> + +<p>"We need new blood, Mr. Charles, even in the +pulpit. And we old men must make way for +the younger generation," he said sadly to his +faithful parishioner.</p> + +<p>"Aye, Mr. Needham, none o' us can stand up +again' Natur'. But you're good for many a year +yet to come, and I hope I am too."</p> + +<p>"You are hale as ever, but I can say with the +Psalmist: 'My days are like a shadow that +declineth; and I am withered like grass.'"</p> + +<p>"True, Mr. Needham, all flesh is grass, but it +is some comfort to the grass that's withering to +see the new blades a-growing around it"—a speech +Edward John recalled in later years as one of +his happiest efforts in the art of conversation.</p> + +<p>"Yes, if the old grass knows that the new is +its seedling. You are happy, Mr. Charles, in that +way."</p> + +<p>Edward John hitched at his uncomfortable collar +and modestly fingered his necktie, while Mr. +Needham proceeded to sound the praises of Henry.</p> + +<p>"But I confess," the vicar went on to say, "I +am at times troubled in my mind as to how his +faith has withstood the shocks it must receive in +the buffetings of City life. I trust the good seed +which I strove to plant in his heart as a boy has +grown up unchoked by the thistles which the +distractions of the world so often sow there." +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 252]</span></p> + +<p>"Oh, 'is 'eart's all right, Mr. Needham," said the +postmaster cheerily, as the vicar shook hands with +him, and moved slowly away towards his home.</p> + +<p>Despite the excitement of preparation both at +the Post Office and the inn, and the beguilement of +gossip which brought the most improbable stories +into circulation among the village folk, as, for +example, that Mrs. Charles had borrowed a +silver teapot from the wife of the estate agent to +Sir Henry Birken; a story devoid of fact, for +Edward John had paid in hard cash at Birmingham +for that article, as well as a cream jug to match, +making a special journey for the purpose the +previous day, and thus carrying out a twenty-five-year-old +promise to his patient wife—despite these +excellent reasons for speeding the time, the hours +wore slowly on, and the postmaster must have +covered a mile or two in his wanderings between +his shop door and the corner of the street, from +which a distant view of the returning vehicle might +be had. It was expected back by four o'clock, and +when on the stroke of five it had not returned, +Mrs. Charles was sitting in gloom, with terrible +pictures of railway accidents passing before her +mind, gazing in a sort of mental morgue upon +her dead boy.</p> + +<p>Soon after five o'clock the gig pulled up before +the door at a moment when the vigilance of the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 253]</span> +postmaster had been relaxed, and Henry had +stepped into the shop before his father was there +to greet him; but it had been Dora's good fortune +to see him arrive while giving some finishing touches +to his bedroom upstairs, and the clatter of her +descent brought the whole group about him in a +twinkling.</p> + +<p>In the excitement of the moment Henry's +expected companion was forgotten, until his +father asked suddenly: "And where's your lit'ry +friend?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've missed him somehow. He didn't turn +up at St. Pancras this morning, and I've no idea +what's become of him."</p> + +<p>The news fell among them like a thunderbolt, +and all but Henry immediately thought of that +silver teapot and other preparations for the +distinguished visitor. Edward John secretly +regretted his journey to Birmingham; but Mrs. +Charles was glad she had the teapot, visitor or +no visitor.</p> + +<p>Henry was not altogether sorry, if he had spoken +his mind, for he had never quite reconciled himself +to his friend's proposal. But he did not speak his +mind, and he endeavoured to sympathise with his +father's regrets at the absence of Adrian Grant, as +Mrs. Charles had been straining every nerve to +provide a meal worthy of the man. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 254]</span></p> + +<p>"P'raps he'll be to-morrow," said Edward John +"Poor old Jukes 'll feel a bit left. He'd been +building on 'aving 'im."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry for the trouble he has caused you all, +and I hope he may yet turn up so that you won't +be disappointed."</p> + +<p>"Never mind, 'Enry, my lad, it's you we want +in the first place, and right glad we are to see you. +The vicar was in asking for you this afternoon. +You'll know a difference on the old man. Going +down the 'ill, he is. But we're all growing older +every day, as the song says. You're filling out +now, and that's good. I said you were growing +all to legs last time. Aye, aye, 'ere you are +again."</p> + +<p>"You haven't been troubled with your chest, +Henry, I hope," said Mrs. Charles, taking advantage +of a moment when her husband did not seem to +have a question to ask.</p> + +<p>"Chest! dear no, mother; always wear flannel +next the skin, you know," her son replied +lightly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Charles sighed, and her lips tightened as in +pain.</p> + +<p>"What books has Mr. Grant written?" Dora +asked, <i>à propos</i> of nothing.</p> + +<p>"Some novels which I don't advise you to read," +said Henry. +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 255]</span></p> + +<p>"Why that? I'm growing quite literary," his +sister returned. "Eunice has infected me; she's a +great reader now."</p> + +<p>At mention of the name, Henry coloured a little.</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" he said. "She always had good +taste, I think; but really I'm sick of books and +writing. I think you used to do pretty well without +them."</p> + +<p>"Hearken at that," said his father. "Sick of +books! It's the same all over. Old Brag the +butcher used to say, leave a cat free for a night +in the shop to eat all it could get, and it was +safe to leave the beef alone ever after. I'm sick +o' postage stamps, but we've got to sell 'em."</p> + +<p>"I'm not so tired of my work as all that," Henry +went on, "but down here I'm glad to get away +from it."</p> + +<p>We know this was scarcely true, as he had brought +down his unfinished manuscript of "that book" +to work at it if he felt the mood come on. +He spoke chiefly to divert the conversation from +the topic of Adrian Grant's novels, which he felt +he could not frankly discuss in this home of +simple life.</p> + +<p>"I must call on Mr. Needham before Sunday," +he added inconsequently to his father.</p> + +<p>"Eunice is at home just now, but she's going +away on a visit to her aunt at Tewksbury +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 256]</span> +next week," said Dora, and Mrs. Charles +watched the face of her son anxiously as his +sister spoke.</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed!" said Henry, without betraying +any feeling. +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_257" id="Pg_257">[Pg 257]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3>A TRAGIC ENDING</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">It</span> was on a Friday that Henry arrived at Hampton. +He had expected a telegram from Adrian Grant that +evening, explaining his failure to join him at St. +Pancras, but no word was received. Nor did +Saturday morning bring a note. But it brought +the morning papers and tragic news.</p> + +<p>Henry was seated in the garden behind his +father's house—a real old-world garden, with rudely-made +paths and a charming tangle of flowers—gigantic +hollyhocks, bright calceolarias, sweet-smelling +jasmine, stocks, early asters and chrysanthemums, +growing in rich profusion and in the +most haphazard manner. The jasmine climbed +over the trellis-work of the summer-seat, made +long years ago by the hands of Edward John +before he had grown stout and lazy, and now +creaking aloud to be repaired.</p> + +<p>He had come out here with a Birmingham +morning paper in his hand—a paper which made +his journalistic blood boil when he thought how +intolerably dull and self-sufficient it was—and he +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 258]</span> +had only opened it at the London letter when he +saw a name that made him fumble the sheets +quickly into small compass for close reading—Adrian +Grant!</p> + +<p>A new book by him? a bit of personal gossip? +No. He read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"The literary world will be shocked this morning +to hear of the tragic death of Mr. Adrian Grant, +the celebrated author of 'Ashes' and other novels, +which have achieved great success in this country +and America. As is well known, the name of the +novelist is an assumed one, his own cognomen +being the somewhat curious one of Phineas +Puddephatt. He was a gentlemen of private means, +and peculiar in his habits. There is probably no +other living writer of his eminence about whose +private life less is known. He was frequently +absent from this country for long periods, and +cared little for the usual attractions of literary life +in London. This morning (Friday) he was found +dead in his apartments at Gloucester Road, +Kensington, under mysterious circumstances. He +had intended leaving to-day for a short stay in the +country, but as he did not appear at breakfast +at the usual hour, and gave no response when +summoned, the door of his bedroom was opened, +and he was not there, nor had his bed been slept +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 259]</span> +in. Entering his study, which adjoined the bedroom, +the domestics were shocked to find Mr. Grant—to +give him the name he is best known by—seated +on a chair, with the handle of his 'cello in his left +hand and the bow held in his right, in the very +act of drawing it across the strings. He was dead; +and the extraordinary life-likeness of the pose +added greatly to the tragic nature of the discovery. +At present no explanation is forthcoming, +and an inquest will be held. The deceased +novelist was an accomplished performer on the +'cello, and those who knew him describe him +even as a master of that instrument, and capable +of having achieved as great, if not greater, +distinction as a musician than as a novelist. He +is believed to have been just about forty years +of age."</p></div> + +<p>It seemed but yesterday that Henry read in the +<i>Weekly Review</i> a paragraph about the identity of +Adrian Grant, and now—this! The stabs of Fate +come fast and ruthless to the young man, to rid him +of youth's illusion of immortality. He sees men rise +up suddenly into fame, and dreams that one day +he shall do so too. Then a brief year or two glides +by, and the hearse draws up at the door of Fame's +latest favourite, and youth begins to understand +that the bright game of life must now be played +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 260]</span> +with a blinking eye on the end of all things mortal. +If he also understands that the end is in truth the +beginning, that "the best is yet to be," then he +may be happy no less. If not, he is booked for +cynicism and things unlovely.</p> + +<p>Adrian Grant dead! Fame, fortune his, and but +half-way through life. Dead, and "mysteriously." +Henry sat dumb, struck thoughtless with +amazement.</p> + +<p>"'Ow d'you like them 'olly'ocks, 'Enry; ain't they +tremenjous?"</p> + +<p>The voice of his father recalled him, and the +good human ring of it was sweet in his ears.</p> + +<p>"Father, a terrible thing has happened. My +friend Mr. Grant is dead."</p> + +<p>Edward John pursed his mouth to whistle in +token of blank surprise, but the scared look on +Henry's face stayed him in the act, and he said +"Well, well!" instead.</p> + +<p>"'Ow did it happen? Run over?"</p> + +<p>An accident was about the only means of death to +people under seventy that was known in Hampton, +if we except consumption.</p> + +<p>"Listen to this, father; it's dreadful!"</p> + +<p>And Henry re-read the paragraph, turning also to +the news columns, where the information was supplemented +by the statement of a servant to the effect +that the novelist had been heard playing his 'cello +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 261]</span> +late in the night, and had stopped suddenly in the +middle of a bar.</p> + +<p>"Well, well," said Edward John, "that beats all! +Poor fellow, and me went up to Brum to get some +things all on account of 'im." +</p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Pg_262" id="Pg_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3>ONE SUNDAY, AND AFTER</h3> + +<p class="noindent"><span class="smcap">Sunday</span> morning came sweet with the soft breath +of golden autumn, and Henry awoke with the breeze +whispering through his open window, "Adrian Grant +is dead." For a moment it seemed that nothing +else mattered, and in a moment more the need to +wash and dress dispelled that gloomy thought.</p> + +<p>"Poor Grant!" said Henry to himself, as he +soused his face at the wash-stand. "Poor Grant! I +wonder what he thinks of life and death to-day?" +All the cynical utterances of the dead man crowded +back on the memory of the living. His contempt +of the spiritual life, his jaundiced views of humanity. +It was terrible to think of a gifted man dying +with such cold thoughts in his mind. The mysterious +nature of the death also troubled Henry, and +his knowledge of the man led him to suspect the +use of some drug.</p> + +<p>But these thoughts and speculations were +suppressed, if not banished, by the pleasant routine +of the rural morning and the going to morning +church. Henry found himself searching anxiously +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 263]</span> +with his eyes for Eunice Lyndon, and he was +disappointed not to see her there. She was absent +owing to household duties, and a pressing visit to +be made to a sick member of Mr. Needham's flock.</p> + +<p>At the close of the service the vicar announced +that his farewell sermon would be delivered in the +evening, and extended a fatherly invitation to his +parishioners to come and hear his last words +to them.</p> + +<p>When the clang of the evening bell shook the +drowsy air of the village, it evoked an unusual +response. Many a wheezing veteran and worn old +woman toiled their way up the hill. Never before +was the little church so full as on that peaceful +autumn evening.</p> + +<p>The entire Charles family was present, Henry +sitting next to his mother; and as he looked round +upon that homely congregation, nearly every face +in which was familiar to him, the emotions of his +boyhood stirred within him again, and he felt as +if all he had passed through since then was as a +troubled dream.</p> + +<p>The slanting rays of the setting sun streamed +through the western windows as Mr. Needham +slowly mounted the pulpit. Every eye was raised +to him as he stood there with his open Bible in +his hand. What would he say? What would be +his last words to them? They were these: +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 264]</span></p> + +<p>"I have fought the good fight, I have finished +my course, I have kept the faith: henceforth there +is laid up for me a crown of righteousness."</p> + +<p>In coughless silence, with those listening eyes +fixed upon him, the vicar began his discourse, +making a brave attempt to preserve his outward +calm. He dwelt upon the career of St. Paul; +followed him in his wanderings, his perils of waters, +his perils in the wilderness, and many trials and +sufferings through which he had passed. And now, +in a dungeon at Rome, with a cruel death awaiting +him, as he looked back on it all the triumphant +note broke from him: "I have fought the good +fight."</p> + +<p>From that the vicar turned to the career of +another: a great poet, one who had all the world +could offer, and who had drunk so deeply of the +pleasures of life that his soul was satiated with them—Lord +Byron. And when at the last, a stranger in +a strange land, away from friends and kindred, he +took up his pen to write, the last words which he +gave to the world were these:</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">"My days are in the yellow leaf;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">The flowers and fruits of love are gone;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4.5em;">The worm, the canker, and the grief</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5.5em;">Are mine alone!"</span> +</p> + +<p>The vicar paused; and then, with simple, touching +earnestness, added: +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 265]</span></p> + +<p>"Which, my brethren will be yours at the last—'the +worm, the canker, and the grief,' or the crown of +righteousness that fadeth not away?"</p> + +<p>Eyes were moist, and hearts throbbed unusually +among the simple-minded village folk as they filed +out, but little was said; they felt they had been +assisting at one of the solemn mysteries of the +church, and no dubious composition, no grandiloquence +of the vicar's came between them and +the heart-cry of the old man.</p> + +<p>Edward John broke the silence in which his +little group walked homeward by saying: "There's +a deal of truth in what the vicar said about <i>vanitas +vanitatium</i>, 'Enry. Seems to me there ain't nothing +much worth having in this world unless we're +keepin' in mind the world that is to come."</p> + +<p>"That is so, father," Henry assented shortly; for +his mind was full of new and comforting thoughts, +and his heart suffused with a tenderness he could +not speak.</p> + +<p>A great love for his father had been budding +steadily when he fancied most it was withering, +and it had burst almost at once into full bloom. +To Mr. Needham also his point of view was +suddenly and for ever changed.</p> + +<p>Both his father and the vicar had been objects +of his youthful admiration; but when there came +the illuminating knowledge of the world and the +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 266]</span> +intimate contact with life which journalism brings +to its young professors—as they in their fond hearts +fancy—both figures began to recede into the background, +in common with others that had once been +cherished; for, unwillingly it may have been, but +still actually, the cynic which is in us all was raised +up in Henry by the touch of a master cynic.</p> + +<p>Frankly, he had been dangerously near the +condition of a "superior person"—of all human +states the most contemptible. His father's ignorant +ways, the vicar's little affectations of learning, his +mother's curl-papers, his sisters' dowdiness of dress—these +were the things that caused them to recede +to the background of the young man's mind when +the young man was in the first lust of his life-experience. +And all the time he was uneasily +conscious that he himself was at fault, and they +wholesomer bits of God's handiwork than he.</p> + +<p>But the tragic ending of the disturber of his +mind, the almost certainty of the cause, was a +crushing commentary on all the philosophy which +Adrian Grant had preached. Art for the sake of art, +and a dose of poison when you take the fancy to +be rid of your responsibilities. That was how +Henry's experience of the novelist summed itself +up in his mind after Mr. Needham's artless little +human sermon. The vicar might be a hide-bound +thinker, a mere echo of ages of hide-bound Bible +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 267]</span> +interpreters, but he was a better and a bigger man +than he who went out with his 'cello between his +knees, thought Henry. Oh, all this prattle of +those who were devoted to the arts! How futile it +sounded when, as with a new revelation, the young +man saw and loved at sight the good, rude health +of his father and his sisters, living as bits of +Nature, and standing not up to rail at Fate, but +without whimpering playing their tiny parts in +the drama of life.</p> + +<p>"But all need not be vanity, don't you think, +Mr. Needham?" said Henry, when he called on +the vicar next day. "All isn't vanity, I now feel +sure, if we can keep green a simple faith in God's +goodness to us; and surely if we only attempt to +model our conduct on the life of Jesus we shall be +in the way of spiritual happiness."</p> + +<p>"My boy, you have got the drift of what I said. +There's nothing in life to place above that. Surely +to do these things is to fight the good fight, and +learning or want of it matters nothing. All the +learning, so far as I can see, brings one only to +the starting-place of ignorance when we face the +Eternal. Hold fast by that belief, and all will be +well. Let your motto be <i>Servabo fidem</i>, or as the +French hath it, <i>Gardez la foi</i>."</p> + +<p>Henry did not smile even in his mind at the +Latin and French tags. He could now accept +<span class="pagenum">[Pg 268]</span> +and almost welcome these little foibles for the +sake of the sheltered life the old man had led, and +the white flower of simple faith which had blossomed +in the garden of his soul.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Needham, I'm not the first who went +to gather wisdom, and came back empty-handed to +find it at my own door."</p> + +<p>"Nor the last, Henry; nor the last."</p> + +<p>Mr. Needham was not the only one at the vicarage +whom Henry went to see, and during the remainder +of his holiday his visits were remarkably frequent. +Henry's new interest in the vicar seemed extraordinary +to Edward John, though it rejoiced hearts +at the Post Office in a way the postmaster did not +then suspect.</p> + +<p>Eunice was lovelier than ever, but with the first +charm of loveliness to Henry, who had at length +discovered that she had violet eyes, and was quite +the most beautiful young woman he had ever +seen.</p> + +<p>"How blind I must have been!" said he to himself.</p> + +<p>How blind!—nay, he had only been focussing his +gaze on things so far off and vain, that the things +near at hand and to be cherished he had overlooked. +He had been peering at the mysteries of the heavens +through a telescope, and trampling the while on the +loveliness of earth. But at last with the naked eye +of his heart he saw all things in a truer perspective—a<span class="pagenum">[Pg 269]</span> +heart refreshed with the re-entry of its old +first, simple faith.</p> + +<p>"That book" was never finished. Henry read +over what he had written, and had the courage to +destroy it, convinced that it was gloomy and unhappy. +Eunice probably had something to do with +that; for he found her ardent in praise of those +who wrote happy books. And when he was in the +train for Fleet Street once again it was with a great +contentment in his soul, and high hope of doing +zestfully his daily task; for he had found that not +only wisdom, but love, often lies at our own door +if we but open our eyes—and our heart.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center">THE END</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="center"><i>Printed by Cowan & Co., Limited, Perth.</i></p> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<div class="bbox"> +<h2>EVERETT'S NEW NOVELS</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>By Popular Authors.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><b>At all Libraries and Booksellers.</b> +</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>THE GHOST.</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By Mrs. </span> +<span class="smcap">Campbell Praed</span>.</p> + +<p><b>A ROUMANIAN VENDETTA.</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By</span> +"<span class="smcap">Carmen Sylva</span>" (Queen of Roumania).</p> + +<p><b>A SON OF MARS.</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By </span> +<span class="smcap">Major Arthur Griffiths</span>.</p> + +<p><b>BEFORE THE BRITISH RAJ.</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By Major </span> +<span class="smcap">Arthur Griffiths</span>.</p> + +<p><b>THE GENTLEMEN FROM GOODWOOD.</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By </span> +<span class="smcap">Edward H. Cooper</span>.</p> + +<p><b>THE MAN WHO DIED</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By </span> +<span class="smcap">G. B. Burgin</span>.</p> + +<p><b>THE DAUGHTERS OF JOB.</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By</span> +"<span class="smcap">Darley Dale</span>".</p> + +<p><b>THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT.</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By</span> +"<span class="smcap">Darley Dale</span>".</p> + +<p><b>A SPORTING ADVENTURER.</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By </span> +<span class="smcap">Fox Russell</span>.</p> + +<p><b>THE VIKING STRAIN.</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By </span> +<span class="smcap">A. G. Hales</span>.</p> + +<p><b>THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A +MAGISTRATE.</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By </span> +<span class="smcap">T. R. Threlfall, J.P.</span></p> + +<p><b>THE KINGS YARD.</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By </span> +<span class="smcap">Walter Jeffery</span>.</p> + +<p><b>THE EXTRAORDINARY ISLANDERS.</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By </span> +<span class="smcap">Aston Forest</span>.</p> + +<p><b>A FRONTIER OFFICER.</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By </span> +<span class="smcap">H. Caldwell Lipsett</span>.</p> + +<p><b>MY JAPANESE WIFE.</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By </span> +<span class="smcap">Clive Holland</span>.</p> + +<p><b>THE CHASE OF THE RUBY.</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By </span> +<span class="smcap">Richard Marsh</span>.</p> + +<p><b>THE GOLD WHIP.</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By </span> +<span class="smcap">Nat Gould</span>.</p> + +<p><b>IN FEAR OF MAN.</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By </span> +<span class="smcap">A. St. John Adcock</span>.</p> + +<p><b>GOTTLIEB KRUMM: MADE IN ENGLAND.</b><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">By </span> +<span class="smcap">George Darien</span>.</p></div> +</div> + +<hr class="hr2"/> + +<div class="tnote"> +<p class="center"><b>Transcriber's Notes:</b></p> + +<p>The Contents section has been modified to correspond with the +actual first pages of each chapter.</p> + +<p>The ads were moved from the front of the book to the end of the +book.</p> + +<p>Errors in punctuations were not corrected unless otherwise noted +below:<br /> + On page 51, a period was added after "by himself".</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Call of the Town, by John Alexander Hammerton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CALL OF THE TOWN *** + +***** This file should be named 33763-h.htm or 33763-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/7/6/33763/ + +Produced by Ernest Schaal, Nick Wall and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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