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diff --git a/40651-0.txt b/40651-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..99965cb --- /dev/null +++ b/40651-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4361 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40651 *** + +[Illustration: coverpage] + + + + + THE HYPOCRITE + + + + + A FEW + + EARLY PRESS OPINIONS + + OF + + THE HYPOCRITE + + + _MORNING POST_:--"It is entitled to be regarded as one of the + clever books of the day." + + _MORNING LEADER_:--"A brilliant book.... Evidently the work of a + young, powerful, and subtle brain." + + _WORLD_:--"The anonymous author is evidently young and clever. He + paints with a firm, bold hand. The characters are life-like, and + in many cases drawn from the life. The book will be found + interesting and entertaining." + + _LONDON MORNING_:--"A remarkable book.... Clever the book + undoubtedly is. Its brutally frank analysis of the temperament of + a man with brain and mind hopelessly diseased lifts the author out + of the common rut of novelists, and stamps him as a writer of + power." + + _LLOYD'S_:--"The book sparkles with epigrammatic sayings and + satirical allusions. The characters are all vividly drawn, some of + them being undoubted and recognisable caricatures. The writing is + that of a clever pessimist, with a vein of sardonic humour that + keeps the reader amused. The author may wear a green carnation, + but whether he does or not, it is the work of a skilful pen." + + + + + THE HYPOCRITE + + LONDON + GREENING & CO. + 1898 + + (_All rights reserved_) + + SECOND IMPRESSION + + + + + _First Edition_ _November, 1898_ + _Reprinted_ _December, 1898_ + + + + + CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER I. PAGE + + YARDLY GOBION OPENS HIS LETTERS 1 + + CHAPTER II. + + SCOTT IS LONELY 18 + + CHAPTER III. + + INITIATION 39 + + CHAPTER IV. + + THE CAMPAIGN 62 + + CHAPTER V. + + A PSYCHOLOGICAL MOMENT 83 + + CHAPTER VI. + + THE COUP 103 + + CHAPTER VII. + + THE CONSOLATIONS OF MRS. EBBAGE; WITH SOME + ACCOUNT OF THE REV. PETER BELPER 129 + + CHAPTER VIII. + + THE FINAL POSE 147 + + CHAPTER IX. + + TWENTY YEARS AFTER 157 + + + + + THE HYPOCRITE + + + + + CHAPTER I. + + _YARDLY GOBION OPENS HIS LETTERS._ + + +"I am thinking of writing my impressions, binding them in red leather, +with a _fleur-de-lys_ stamped in the corner, and distributing them among +my friends," said the youth with the large tie. + +"My good fool," said the President of the Union, who sat by the fire, +"you must remember that most of us know you are a humbug." + +"Quite so, but I'm not going to do it for the journalistic set. Don't +you know that, owing to my youthful appearance and earnest eyes, I have +an admiring circle of people who worship me as their god--good, healthy, +red people, who like moonlight in the quad, and read leading articles? +It is very amusing. I wear a great mass of hair, and look at them with +far-away eyes instinct with intellectual pain; and sometimes when we get +very solemn, the tears rise slowly, and I talk in clear tones of effort, +of will--the toil, the struggle, the Glorious Reward! They absolutely +love me, and I live on them, borrow their allowances, drink their +whiskey--in short, rook them largely all round." + +"It is a good thing," said a Merton man, whom they called the Prophet, +"that you have an ark of refuge, where there is no necessity to pose, +and where you can freely behave like the scoundrel you are; +soul-scraping with earnest freshmen is doubtless profitable, but I +should say it was wearing." + +"That's the worst of it. I have to disguise the fact that I know you +people, and write for _The Dead Bird_; it is horribly difficult. I find, +though, that when I am just a little drunk I do it much better. One can +look more _spirituel_, and play the game better all round. Unfortunately +the entrances and exits require management. When one is leaning back in +a padded armchair, it is easy to appear sober; but coming into a big +room full of men, and picking one's way through them to get to the +aforesaid chair, is very perilous work." + +"'Where there's a swill there's a sway,' I suppose," said the Prophet. + +"Exactly," said the youth, with a yawn; "you are becoming singularly apt +at a certain sort of machine-made epigram. I will have a short +drink--quite short. Yes, please--Scotch----" He splashed some soda-water +into his tumbler from a syphon on the table, drank it off at a gulp, and +got up. + +"I really must go now; I am to speak third at the Wadham debate, so I +mustn't be late." + +He got his hat--a soft felt one--and arranging his tie in the glass over +the mantelpiece, went out with a smile. The rooms belonged to the +President of the Union, who was living out of college. They were rooms +arranged with an eye to effect; the owner posed in his furniture as well +as in his person, though there was no particular evidence of luxury or +straining after cheap æstheticism. + +A few armchairs, a sideboard covered with bottles, and two large +bookshelves full of paper-backed novels of Heller and Maupassant, with +a few portly historical treatises of the Taswell-Langmead type, were the +most prominent objects. + +It was evident, however, that a central idea influenced the arrangement. +Sturtevant wrote little decadent studies for any London paper that would +take them. He had scattered notes from literary people about the +mantelpiece. The table was covered with proof-slips, magazines, and +empty glasses, while his latest piece of work, a thin book bound in +brown paper, called _The Harmonies of Sin_, lay in a conspicuous place +on the window-seat. + +When Yardly Gobion, the youth who had been speaking, had gone, +Sturtevant and the Prophet, whose real name was Condamine, drew up their +chairs to the fire, lighting fresh cigarettes. They had been drinking +all day, and were by this time in the stage that knows no reticence. It +is the stage immediately preceding a pious fervour and resolve to start +a new life. + +Both of them were men of mark in the University. + +Sturtevant had come up to Oxford with a brilliant scholarship from a +public school which was growing in reputation every year, the +Head-master being a high churchman who made a scientific study of +advertising his own personality in the weekly press as an earnest +ascetic, but who in reality was merely a Sybarite masquerading as a +monk. Sturtevant was the show boy of Hailton, and soon made himself felt +in his year at Oxford. + +He spoke well and brilliantly at the Union and various college debating +societies. He affected an utter disregard for morals, pretending so +vigorously that Irish whiskey was entirely necessary to salvation that +he soon came to believe in his own pose, and to find a day impossible +without frequent "short drinks." + +Though his eyesight was excellent he carried a single eyeglass, and on +alternate days wore a hunting stock or a Liberty yellow silk tie. + +The extraordinary thing about the man was that he was not merely a +poseur; he really had remarkable cleverness, and despite his life he +had done excellently well in the Schools and Union. In this his last +term he was at the head of things literary, and of the "Modern" school +at Oxford. + +Condamine was a different type of man. He had done nothing very much but +talk, but had a great influence with the cleverest set. He was tall, +with a white, clean-shaven face, and an oracular way of holding forth +which had earned him the name of Prophet. He lived as if life were a +painful duty which he must perform, but very much against his +inclination. + +He was a very high churchman, who on Sunday mornings might often be seen +walking up the aisle of St. Barnabas carrying a richly-illuminated +mass-book. "Sunday," he would say, "should be a day of rest." He defined +himself as a psychological hedonist. + +"Young Gobion is a very clever blackguard," said the Prophet. + +"Yes, he is," said Sturtevant; "he looks so young and innocent, and he +talks well." + +"Is he a pure adventurer?" + +"No, I don't quite think that; he comes of a good family, but they +won't have anything to do with him, and for the last term or two he has +been living on his wits. He's nearly done now, though. I should think +he'd drop out after this term." + +"I never knew how far to believe the man. I suppose he does write a good +deal?" + +"Yes, that's quite true. I've seen his things in _The Book Review_ and +in _The Pilgrim_. I imagine too he makes a good deal out of the Church +party." + +"What on earth do you mean?" + +"Why, he acts a fit of remorse and horror at the life he is leading, +goes to Father Gray to confession, and then borrows ten pounds to start +a new life." + +Sturtevant laughed an evil little snigger and poured out some more +whiskey. + +They had blown out the lamp as the oil was low, and the room was only +lighted by the dull glow of the dying fire. The air was heavy with +cigarette smoke and the smell of spirits, and both men felt bored and +sleepy. + +Condamine was afraid a fit of depression was approaching, so he raised +himself in his chair, and began to drive away his thoughts by telling +Sturtevant risky stories. + +They were far too clever to really care much for cheap nastiness, but +both felt it a relief from the state of nervous tension that a long +day's continuous drinking had induced. + +"One touch of indecency makes the whole world grin, to paraphrase the +immortal bard," he said, and they both laughed and sighed. + +Suddenly a man in the rooms above who had a piano began to play the +Venusberg music from _Tannhäuser_ very quietly. + +Almost simultaneously with the beginning of the music the moon, like a +piece of carved silver floating through the winter sky, attended by a +little drift of fluffy amber and sulphur-coloured clouds, swung round +from behind New College tower, sending a broad band of green light +across the room. + +Sturtevant's white face was thrown into sharp relief against the shadow. + +Condamine sat quite still, shivering a little. He felt cold. The strange +music tinkled on, like the overture to some strange experience, +sounding almost unearthly to those two unhappy souls in the room below. + +Sturtevant's face twitched. His nerves were all wrong, and he was +subject to small facial contortions. + +The moon moved farther away from the tower, and, peeping over a +gargoyle, shone still more directly into the room. On the wall opposite +the window was a picture of the Dutch realistic school, a heavy hairless +face, fat, with a look of vacuous excitement. + +Condamine stared fixedly at it. + +Suddenly the music stopped, and the man above shut the piano with a bang +that jarred among the strings. + +Condamine jumped up with a curse, looking as if he had been asleep. Then +he yawned, and taking his cap and gown, without speaking left the room. + +It was then upon nine o'clock, and he went to the Union and fought +depression by firing off epigrams to a crowd of men in the smoking-room +with the assured air of a man of vogue. + +The Wadham debate was over about eleven, and soon after the hour had +struck, Yardly Gobion left the college and strolled down the Broad in +the moonlight. + +He had, as usual, made a sensation. + +They had been discussing a social question, and though what knowledge of +the matter he had came as much from intuition as experience, he spoke +well and brilliantly, and now lit his cigarette with a pleasing sense of +strength and nerve running through him. The sunshine of applause seemed +to warm his impressionable brain, to make it expand with the power of +receiving and mentally recording more vivid impressions. He had a +pleasing consciousness of being very young and very interesting. + +He was wonderfully quick and sympathetic in his perceptions, and he +could see that every one of the good-natured men at the debate was +thinking what a clever fellow he was. + +He felt instinctively how all his carefully-studied tricks of manner and +personal eccentricities told. The big football-playing, warm-hearted +undergraduates admired him for his soft felt hat, his terra-cotta tie, +his way of arranging his hands when he sat down, and his epigrams. + +They imagined that all these things were the outcroppings of a +distinctive personality, and indeed these little poses would have +deceived, and very often did, far cleverer persons than they were. + +To-night he had said in his speech of a certain genial and popular +social reformer that he was a "doctrinaire with a touch of Corney Grain +grafted on to a polemic attitude," and already in the Common Room they +were chuckling over what they thought was a happy piece of impromptu +caricature. + +Gobion sauntered down the Broad and Turl to the college gates, and when +he knocked in found several letters waiting for him in the lodge. He +took them up to his rooms, turned on the light (they have electric light +at Exeter), and arranged them in a row on the table. Then he turned and +looked at himself in the glass. His hand shook till he had had some +brandy, and he was several minutes moving restlessly about the room, +putting on a blazer, and placing some stray books back on the shelves, +before he sat down to read the first letter. He toyed about with it for +some minutes, afraid to open it. + +Outside in the quad a wine party were shouting and singing, their voices +echoing strangely in the still winter night, their drunken shouts +seeming to be mellowed and made musical by the ancient buildings. At +last, with a quick nervous look round the room, he tore open the +envelope and began to read. Without any heading the letter began:-- + + "BASSINGTON VICARAGE, + + "_Sunday Night._ + + "I have heard from Dr. Fletcher that you are suspected to be + carrying on an intrigue with a low woman in Oxford; that you have + not passed a single examination, and that you consistently fritter + away your time in speaking at debating societies, and are in the + habit of being frequently intoxicated. + + "You have written me accounts of your progress and work at the + University, which, on investigation, I find to be simply a tissue + of lies. + + "I have had bills for large amounts sent to me during the last few + weeks from tradesmen, saying that they find it impossible to get + any money from you, and that you ignore their communications. You + have had splendid opportunities, a good name, with abilities above + the average, and I believed that you would have done me credit. + Your deceit and cruelty have broken my heart. + + "I shall do nothing further for you, and you must make your own + plans for the future. + + "I shall not help you in any way. + + "Your unhappy + + "FATHER." + +He got up and had some more brandy, walking about the room. "I knew the +old fool would find out soon. My God, though, it's rather sudden. I +haven't twopence in the world, and the High Church people are beginning +to smell a rat. Damn this collar--it's tight...." He tore it off, +smashing the head of the stud, which rolled under the fender with a +sharp metallic click. After a time he sat down again. The feeling of +ruin was already passing away, and his face lost its sweetness and +youth, while a sharp keen look took its place--the look that he wore +when at night he was alone and plotting, a haggard, old look which no +one ever saw but Condamine or Sturtevant. + +He took up the next letter, a small envelope addressed in a girl's +hand:-- + + "WESTCOTT, + + "WOOTON WOODS." + + "DEAREST CARADOC,--You cannot think how delighted I was to get + your letter on Saturday. I have been thinking of you a good deal + the last two or three weeks, and wondering why you did not write. + + "Had you forgotten all about me? I expect so, but there is some + excuse for you, as you must meet heaps of _pretty_ girls in + Oxford. Do write me a nice long letter soon--a _nice_ letter, you + know. + + "Good-bye, dearest-- + + "Your _very_ loving + + "GOODIE. + + "P.S.--Excuse scrawl." + +The hard, keen expression faded away, his eyes filling with tears, while +the light played caressingly on his face and tumbled hair. + +It was his one pure affection, an attachment for a dear little girl of +seventeen, a clergyman's daughter in the country. He thought of the +evening walks in the sweet summer meadows, when the "mellow lin lan lone +of evening bells" ringing for evensong floated over the corn. He +remembered how her hair had touched his face, and how she had whispered +"dearest." + +And then the thoughts of all the other women in Oxford and London +came crowding into his brain. The hot kisses, the suppers and +patchouli-scented rooms, the slang and high tinkling laughter. His brow +wrinkled up with pain as he walked up and down the room, filled with a +supreme self-pity. + +He remembered half unconsciously that Charles Ravenshoe had said, "Will +the dawn never come? Will the dawn never come?" and he began to moan it +aloud, with an æsthetic pleasure in the feeling of desolation and +melancholy wasted hours--"will the dawn _never_ come?" He came opposite +the looking-glass, and was struck with the beauty of his own face, sad +and pure. He gazed intently for a minute or two, then his features +relaxed, and he breathed hard and smiled, murmuring, "Ah, well, a little +purity and romance whip the jaded soul pleasantly. Goodie is a darling, +and I love her, but still the others were amusing and piquant. They were +the iota subscripts of love!" + +There were still two more letters to be opened. One ran:-- + + "162_a_, STRAND, W.C. + + "DEAR MR. YARDLY GOBION,--I shall be glad if you will do us a + review of Canon Emeric's new book, _Art and Religion_. We can take + half a column--leaded type; and shall be glad to have the copy by + Friday at the latest. Are you going to be in town at all soon? If + so I shall possibly be able to give you work on _The Pilgrim_, as + we want an extra man, and I have been quite satisfied with what + you have done for us so far. + + "Please do not be later than Friday with the review. + + "Believe me, yours very truly, + + "JAMES HEATH." + +"Just what I want! good--I like _The Pilgrim_, it's smart--this is luck. +I suppose they like my 'occ' reviews. Heath always likes work that keeps +cleverly on the border, and I imagine that I have shown him how to be +realistic without being indelicate. Dear old Providence manages things +very well after all. I really must do a short drink on the strength of +this." + +And he had some more brandy. + +The last letter was simply a breakfast invitation. + +He sat up for half an hour more making plans for the morrow, finally +deciding to borrow all the money he could and go up to town in the +afternoon. + +It was now nearly half-past one, and the excitement of the debate and +later of the letters had left him shaking and tired, so he turned out +the light and went into his bedroom. Just as he was closing the door of +communication, he noticed by the firelight that his father's letter had +dropped on the hearthrug, and he went back, putting it in the fire with +a grin. + +Then the door shut, and the room was silent. + + + + + CHAPTER II. + + _SCOTT IS LONELY._ + + +Bravery Reginald Scott, of Merton, was one of Gobion's chief admirers. +He thought that no one was so clever or so good, and felt sure that his +friend's traducers--and they were many--had never really got down below +the crust of cynicism and surface immorality of mind as he had done. He +certainly knew that Gobion occasionally drank more than was good for +him, but he put it down to misadventure more than taste. + +He was a good young man, rather commonplace in intellect, but of a +blameless life and an unsuspicious, happy temperament. + +A man who had always been on the best of terms with an adoring family +and a wealthy father, he ambled easily through life, enjoying +everything, and being especially happy when he was worked up into an +emotion by a poem or sunset. + +Generally tethered in the shallows of everyday circumstances, his mind +experienced undimmed delight in acute sensation. + +He had one great motif running like a silver thread through his +consciousness--his love for Gobion; and every night he humbly and +earnestly prayed for him, kneeling at a little _prie-Dieu_ painted +green. + +To him there had been something very sacred in his relations with this +man. One night Gobion had stayed behind after a wine party, and had sat +late, staring into the fire and talking simply and hopefully about the +trials and temptations of a young man's life. Very frankly he had talked +with a nobleness of ideal and breadth of thought that fascinated Scott +and made him feel drawn close to this strange handsome boy who was so +assured and so hopeful. + +After that first night there had been others when they sat alone, and +Gobion talked airily with a fantastic wealth of fancy and sweetness of +expression. + +Scott thought he could see in all this man's conversation a high purpose +and a stainless purity, made the more obvious by attempts at +concealment. + +Then again, Gobion gave him the impression of being delightfully +unworldly, with no idea of the value of money, for he would come to him +unconcernedly and borrow ten pounds to get out of some scrape, with a +careless freedom that seemed to point to an absolute childishness in +money matters. + +Scott always lent it, and gloried in the feeling that he was helping the +friend of his soul, albeit that Gobion had had most of his available +cash, and he knew his affairs were getting something precarious. + +On the morning of the Wadham debate he lay in bed half dozing, with a +pleasing sense of anticipation. + +Gobion was coming to a _tête-à-tête_ breakfast, and he wondered what he +would talk about, whether he would wear what he called his "explicit" +tie or that green suit which became him so well. + +Not far away in Exeter, the object of his thoughts was getting up and +carefully dressing. He was thinking over the part he would have to play +at breakfast, and devising some way of breaking the news of his +approaching flight, and thinking out a plan for getting as much money as +he could to take him up to town. + +He had finished his toilette, and was passing out of his bedroom when he +noticed that he looked in capital health, and not at all anxious or +unhappy enough for a ruined man. + +Scott would doubtless never have noticed, but Gobion was nothing if not +an artist, and had a hatred of incompleteness. + +Accordingly, he pulled a box of water-colour paints out of a drawer in +his writing table, and carefully pencilled two dark sepia lines under +his eyes, several times sponging them off till he had got what he +considered a proper effect. + +About a quarter after nine Scott's bedroom door opened unceremoniously, +and Gobion came in. + +Scott jumped up. + +"I'm beastly sorry, old man, to be so slack. I'll be up in a minute. Is +brekker in?" + +"Never mind, old man; I'll go back into the next room and wait." + +When breakfast was brought they sat for a time in silence. Then Gobion +spoke. + +"Old man, the game's up." + +"What!" + +"I'm done--utterly." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Well, you know how unlucky I have been in exams, and what a small +allowance I have always had?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, the guvnor has written saying that I am idle and hopeless, and +has taken my name off the books and refused to have anything more to do +with me." + +Scott gasped. "Oh, Lord, I _am_ so sorry--dear old man--never mind, +remember we promised to stick to each other. Now let's talk it over. +What do you propose to do?" + +"I shall go up to town this afternoon if I can get some money. I have +had some work offered me on _The Pilgrim_, and I am sure to get along +somehow." + +"Of course you will, old man, you always succeed--look here, have you +got any 'oof?" + +"Not a penny." + +"Well, I've got about twenty pounds I don't want. You had better take +them." + +"Thanks awfully, old chap, but I don't think I will, I owe you too much +as it is. I don't know when I shall be able to repay you." + +"Oh, but do, old man, you _must_ have some cash." + +"Well, if----" + +"Ah, I knew you wouldn't mind; let me write you a cheque, you can cash +it at the Old Bank this morning." + +And he got out his cheque-book and wrote it. Gobion took it without +saying anything, but he stretched out his hand and looked him in the +face. With wonderful intuition he knew exactly what the other expected, +and Scott felt repaid by his warm grasp and silence, which, as Gobion +expected, he mistook for emotion. + +After a melancholy cigarette Gobion got up and said, "You'll come and +see me off, of course? I've got a lot to do, but I will have tea here +at four and you can come to the station after. My train leaves at 5.30. +Do you mind telling Robertson and Fleming, and anyone else you come +across, and getting them to come too?" + +The sun was shining when Gobion got out, and he thought that his first +success was a good omen for the future. He strolled up to the bank +feeling well fed and happy, and the strangeness of his position induced +a pleasing sense of excitement and anticipation. He liked to think that +he would be in the Strand that same evening. + +When he had got his money he went to Condamine's rooms in Grove Street, +where, as he expected, he found Sturtevant. He wore the yellow silk tie +this morning. + +They were having breakfast, and Condamine, unwashed and unshaven, +dressed in pyjamas, with his feet thrust into a venerable pair of +dancing pumps with the bows gone, was indignantly holding forth on the +unapproachable manner of some barmaid or other whom he had discovered. + +Gobion took the proffered drink. "First this mornin'," he said, and +then, "I'm going down to-day." + +"Game up?" said Sturtevant. These men were never excited. + +"Exactly. When shall you be up?" + +"I shall be in my chambers, 6, Middle Temple Lane, in three weeks' time, +ready for a campaign in Fleet Street; we'll work together." + +"Right you are; but aren't you afraid of my queering your pitch?" + +"I'll take the risk of that. When do you go?" + +"Five-thirty train." + +"Shall we come to the station?" said Condamine. + +"No, don't, the 'good' set will be there, and as I hope to carry off +most of their spare cash, I think it would be wiser to depart in the +odour of sanctity, and you'd rather spoil it." + +"Right oh!" said the president, using one of his favourite phrases, and +then raising his glass to his lips, "The old toast?" + +"The old toast," said Condamine, "the three consonants"; and they drank +it and said good-bye. + +These three men were bound together by many an orgie, many a shady +intrigue and modest swindle; they had no illusions about each other, but +now they all felt a keen pang of regret that their little society was to +be broken up. + +Gobion went out feeling sorry, but he had too much to do to indulge in +sentiment. He hoped to turn his twenty pounds into forty before lunch. + +As he went into the High, bells were ringing, tutors hurrying along, and +men going to lectures in cap and gown. A group of men in "Newmarkets" +came round the corner of King Edward Street, going to hunt, and nearly +knocked down Professor Max Müller, who was carrying a brown paper parcel +and walking very fast. The Jap shop-girl in a new hat passed with a +smile, and a Christchurch man and rowing blue came out of the "Mitre," +where, no doubt, he had been looking over the morning paper, and +gleaning information about his own state of health. The scene was bright +and animated, and the winter's sun cast a glamour over everything. + +Nearly every other man stopped and spoke to Gobion, and he felt +strangely moved to think that he would soon be out of it all and +forgotten. + +He turned into the stable-yard of the "Bell," and stood there for a +moment irresolutely, frowning, and then with a quick movement went into +the private bar. + +It was quite empty of customers, and a girl sat before the fire with her +feet on the fender reading a novel. + +She jumped up when Gobion came in, and he put his arm round her waist +and kissed her. She was a pretty, fresh-looking girl, and would have +been prettier still if she had not so obviously darkened her eyelashes +with a burnt hairpin. + +Gobion sat down on the chair, and pulled her on to his knee, smiling at +her, and puffing rings of cigarette smoke at her. + +She settled herself comfortably, leaning back in his arms, and began to +rattle away in a rather high-pitched voice about a raid of the proctors +the night before. + +As is the habit of the more "swagger" sort of barmaid, she used the +word "awfully" (with the accent on the _aw_) once or twice in nearly +every sentence, and it was curious to hear how glibly the Varsity slang +and contractions slipped from her. + +He played with a loose curl of hair, thinking what a pretty little fool +she was. + +"Maudie dear, I'm going away." + +"Do you mean for _good_?" + +"I'm afraid so, darling." + +She opened her eyes wide and puckered up her forehead. She looked very +nice, and he kissed her again. + +"I don't understand," she said. + +"Well, the fact is the guvnor has stopped supplies, and I'm sent down." + +"And you're going to leave _me_?... and we've had such an awfully jolly +time ... oh, you cruel boy!" + +And she began to sob. + +He grinned perplexedly over her head. + +" ... Never mind, dearest, I'll write to you and come down and see you +soon." + +"I don't know _what_ I shall do.... I l-liked you s-so much better than +the others.... _Don't_ go." + +"But, Maudie, I must. Look here, I will come in after lunch and arrange +things properly. I'm in a fearful hurry now, and I shan't go till +to-morrow." + +"Really!" + +"Oh, rather; now give me a B. and S. I really must depart." + +She got up from his knee, and went behind the counter in the corner of +the room. + +"I'm going to have some first," she said. + +"You're a naughty little girl!" + +"Am I? you rather like it, don't you?" ... She looked tempting when she +smiled. + +"May I?" + +"You've had such a lot!" + +"Just one to keep me going till after lunch." + +"Stupid boy; well, there----" + +"That was ve-ry nice. Good-bye for the present, dear." + +She made a little mock curtsey. "I shall expect you at two ... dear!" + +He kissed his hand and shut the door, breathing a sigh of relief when he +got outside. + +"She won't see me again. I'm well out of that," he thought, his cheeks +still burning with her hot kisses. + +"Now for the worst ordeal." + +Father Gray came out of the private chapel of the clergy-house in his +cassock and biretta. + +He had been hearing the somewhat long confession of an innocuous but +unnecessary Keble man, and felt inclined to be irritable. He met Gobion +going up to his room. + +His pale lined face lighted up--most people's faces did when they saw +Gobion. + +"You here, dear boy? Come in--come into my room." + +He opened the door, and went in with his hand on Gobion's shoulder. The +room was panelled in dark green, and warmed by a gas stove. The shelves +were filled with books, and books littered the floor and chairs, and +even invaded two big writing-tables covered with papers. Over the +mantelpiece was hung a print of Andrea Mantegna's Adoration of the Magi. +On the wall opposite was a great crucifix, while underneath it was a +little shelf covered with worn black velvet, with two silver +candlesticks standing on it. + +Behind a green curtain stood an iron frame, holding a basin and jug of +water. + +All the great Anglican priests had been in that room at one time or +another. + +From it retreats were organized, the innumerable squabbles of the +various sisterhoods settled, and arrangements made for the private +confession of High Church bishops who required a tonic. + +In fact, this business-like little room was in itself the head-quarters +of what that amusing print _The English Churchman_ would call "the most +Romanizing members of the Ritualistic party." + +They sat down. Father Gray said, "You have something to tell me?" + +"Yes," Gobion answered sadly, "I am ruined." + +"Oh, come, come! What's all this? A boy like you can't be ruined." + +"My father has put the last touch to his unkindness, and quite given me +up. You know how I have tried to work and lead a decent life; but he +won't listen, and I'm going to work at journalism in London and take my +chance." + +"My poor boy, my poor boy!" And the old priest was silent. + +Then he said, "Do you think you can keep yourself?" + +"I am sure I can, if only I can tide over the first three months. I +expect it will be very hard at first though." + +"Have you any money?" + +"No; and I am heavily in debt into the bargain." + +"Oh, well, well, we must manage all that somehow. I won't let you +starve. You have always been so frank with me, and told me all your +troubles. We understand one another; you must let me lend you some for a +time." + +"It's awfully good of you." + +"Oh, nonsense, these things are nothing between you and me; here is a +cheque for five-and-twenty pounds, that will keep you going for a month +or two. You know I'm not exactly a poor man. Now you'll stay to lunch, +the Bishop's coming." + +"No, thanks, I won't stay, I'll say good-bye now; I want to be alone +and think. Thank you so very much; I haven't led a very happy life at +Oxford, but I _have_ tried ... and you've been so kind.... I am afraid I +am utterly unworthy of it all"; and his voice trembled artistically. + +"My boy," said the old man, and his face shone, "you have been foolish, +and wasted your chances. You have not been very bad. Thank God that you +are pure and don't drink. God bless you--go out and prosper, keep +innocence; now good-bye, good-bye"; and he made the sign of the cross in +the air. + +Gobion got outside somehow, feeling rather unwell. He did not feel +particularly pleased with his success at first, but the sun, and the +crowd of people, and the wonderful irrepressible gaiety of the High just +before lunch on a fine day cheered him up; and he cashed the second +cheque, enjoying the look of surprise on the clerk's face, which was an +unusual thing, because bank clerks, though always discourteous, are +seldom surprised. + +Then he went back to college and packed his portmanteau. + +He left most of his books, and took only clothes and things that did not +require much room. Scott would send up the heavy things after him. He +told his scout he was going down for a few days, and that Mr. Scott of +Merton would forward all letters. He knew that if his intended departure +became known his creditors would rush to the Rector, and he would +probably be detained. + +He lingered over lunch, making an excellent meal, drinking a good deal +of brandy, and thinking over the position. As far as he could see things +were not so very bad; he could probably earn enough by journalism to +keep him, and he had forty-five pounds in his pocket, while the +pleasures of London awaited him. + +He lay back in an armchair, taking deep draughts of hot cigarette smoke +into his lungs, smiling at the idea of his morning's work, and wondering +how he had done it--analyzing and dissecting his own fascination. + +It is a curious thing that the more evil we are the more intensely we +are absorbed in our own personality. The clever scoundrel is always an +egotist; and Gobion liked nothing better than to admire himself quietly +and dispassionately. + +Leaning back half asleep, looking lazily at the purring, spitting fire, +his thoughts turned swiftly into memories, and a vista of the last few +years opened up before him. + +He saw himself a boy of fifteen, keenly sensitive and inordinately vain. +He remembered how his eager hunger for admiration had led him to pose +even to his father and mother; how, when he found out he was clever, he +used to lie carefully to conceal his misdoings from them. Gradually and +slowly he had grown more evil and more bitter at the narrowness which +misunderstood him. + +When love had gone the deterioration was more marked, and he threw +himself into grossness. His imagination was too quick and vivid to let +him live in vice wholly without remorse, and every now and again he +wildly and passionately confessed his sins and turned his back on them, +as he thought, for ever. Then after a week or two the emotional fervour +of repentance would wear off, and he would plunge more deeply into vice, +and lead a jolly, wicked life. + +But keenest and most poignant of all his memories were the quiet summer +evenings with Scott or Taylor, when the windows were open, and the long +days sank gently into painted evenings. It was at times like these, when +all the charm and mellow beauty of evening floating down on the ancient +town of spires sensuously bade him forget the life he was leading, and +thrilled all the poetry and fervour in him, that he would talk simply +and beautifully, and stir his friends into a passion of enthusiasm by +his ideals. The gloriousness of youth bound them all together, and in +the summer quiet of some old-world college garden the wolf and the lambs +held sweet converse, generally in the chosen language of that university +exclusiveness which is at once so pretty and so delightful, so impotent, +and yet full of possibilities. Detached scenes rose up ... the almost +painful æsthetic pleasure he had felt when he had gone to evensong at +Magdalen with Scott, and the scent of the summer seemed to penetrate and +be felt through the solemn singing and sonorous booming of the lessons. + +... The High by moonlight--the most fairy-like scene in Europe. Scott's +arm in his, and the grey towers shimmering in the quivering moonspun +air. + +A black cloud of horror and despair came down on him. He saw himself as +he was. For once he dared to look at his own evil heart, and no light +came to him in that dark hour. + + * * * * * + +A little before half-past five, nine or ten men stood on the platform of +the Great Western station talking together. + +A group of what Gobion called the "good" set had come to see him go. + +They stood round, sorrowfully pressing him to write and let them know +how he got on. + +Fleming went to the bookstall and bought a great bundle of papers and +magazines, and Scott appeared at the door of the refreshment-room laden +with sandwiches and a flask of sherry. + +They shook hands all round; it was the last time most of them saw him. +Sadly they said good-bye, and took a last look at his clear-cut face. + +Scott claimed the last adieu, and leant into the carriage, pressing +Gobion's hand, afraid to speak. Gobion felt a horrible remorse, but he +choked down his emotion by an enormous effort of will. + +The train began to move. + +"God bless you, God bless you, old un," said Scott hoarsely. + +"An epithet is the conclusion of a syllogism," said Gobion to himself, +lighting a cigarette as the train glided out of the station. + +So he went his way, and they saw him no more. + + + + + CHAPTER III. + + _INITIATION._ + + +Gobion went to the Grosvenor Hotel and dressed for dinner. Never before +had he been so free, so unrestrained. A most pleasurable feeling of +excitement possessed him. + +He knew he could venture where another man would fail; he had +fascination, resource--he was utterly unscrupulous; it was almost +pleasingly dramatic. + +He stood in the hall after dinner and lit a cigarette, watching the +crowd of well-dressed people on the lounges round the wall, enjoying +their after-dinner coffee. + +The excellent dinner he had eaten still wanted the final climax of +coffee, and sitting down in an armchair he ordered some. + +The dreamy content of a well-fed, but not over-fed, man beamed from +him. What should he do?--a music-hall perhaps--he could almost have +laughed aloud in pure amusement and delight at his freedom. + +A man sitting near asked him for a match, and they began to talk in the +idle desultory way of two chance acquaintances, making remarks about the +people sitting round. + +A big, yellow-haired girl was talking and laughing in loud tones on the +other side of the room, clattering her fan with, it seemed to Gobion, +quite unnecessary noise. + +"Who is that person?" he said. + +"Which?" + +"The girl with the bun, by the potted palm." + +"Oh," said the stranger, "that is Lady Mary Aiden Hibbert; she is of a +rather buoyant disposition." + +"Not to say _Tom_ buoyant," said Gobion, punning lazily; "she seems of +an amiable complexion." + +"My dear sir, complexion of both kinds is influenced by cosmetics, not +by character." + +"I perceive you are a cynic." + +"Possibly," said the other in a meditative tone; "yet not so much of a +cynic as a man in quest of sensations." + +"A society journalist?" + +"No, merely a man who has become tired of the higher immorality, and +wants something else to do." + +Gobion laughed and got up. "I'm going to the Palace for an hour or two." + +"May I come?" said the stranger; "my name is Jones." + +"Please do. I am called Yardly Gobion. I shouldn't like to be called +Jones, it's not a pretty name." + +The other smiled, he was not vexed; Gobion knew his man. They drove +swiftly to the Palace through the lighted streets, talking a little on +the way. When they went into the stalls the hysterio-comic of the hour +was leaping round the stage in frenzied pirouettes between the verses of +her song. + +The suggestive music of the dance pulsed through the audience, and when +the time sank into the rhythm of the verse, they sat back in their +seats with expectant eyes, and a little sigh of delight and +anticipation. + +Miss Mace, in her song "It's a Family Characteristic," was the talk of +London. The _risqué_ nature of the words, her wonderful art in singing +them, her naughty eyes, the twitching of her somewhat large mouth--all +the lewd papers of the baser sort yelled over her in ecstasy every +Wednesday morning. + +"I wonder what they pay her a week," said Mr. Jones. + +Gobion hadn't an idea, but he said "sixty pounds" confidently. + +"Really! She certainly is very clever." + +"The best thing I find about her is that she is in wonderful sympathy +with her audience, especially too when she is drunk--much funnier then." + +"Imagine how often the average faddist would invoke the Deity during her +turn," said the stranger something sententiously. + +"His deity, you mean," answered Gobion. "The average man of the +_Echo_-reading type thinks God is a policeman in the service of the +Purity party." + +"You coruscate; let us go to the American bar." + +"That's a good idea; the presiding gentleman who makes the drinks is an +artist. The mingled science and art with which he compounds whimsical +beverages is wonderful. Half of him seems impulse and nervous force as +he rattles the pounded ice and flourishes the glasses, while the other +half looks in and puts the finishing touches." + +"You talk nonsense very pleasantly," said Mr. Jones. "What will you +have?" + +"Oh! a sherry cobbler, please, _with_ straws." + +"Are you a connoisseur in drinks?" + +"Not yet; I hope to be." + +"I will take you to a place where you may learn." + +"Please do; drinks are more than a cult, they are a science. To a man I +knew at Oxford they were a religion." He was thinking of Condamine. + +"There are so many religions nowadays." + +"Yes; the sham of yesterday takes an alias and calls itself the religion +of the future." + +"I hate the faddist." + +"What _do_ you like?" + +"I haven't many likes left now. I like to be amused as much as +possible." + +After a time they left the music-hall, and while they were walking +through clubland the stranger permitted himself more freedom of +expression, talking cynically. He was a middle-aged man, and Gobion +amused him immensely. + +"How badly brought up you must have been," he said to him. + +"Why, what makes you think so?" + +"You vibrate so quickly to my views, and I am not considered orthodox." + +"Well, I was not so much badly brought up, as left to myself. My +father's pedigree claimed a larger share of his attention than his +progeny. I was an accident in the domestic arrangements." + +"He must be a strange person." + +"He is. I always suspect my predisposition to shady pleasures is +hereditary, although he is a parson." + +"It's quite often the case that a repentant rake takes Orders from a +mere revulsion to asceticism. And your mother?" + +"A nonentity with most seductive hair." + +While talking, they had arrived at the Park, and were turning home to +the hotel in the fresh night air. Gobion knew that he had been smart, +perhaps smarter than usual, but he did not know what impression he had +made. The stranger was a man outside his experience. Accustomed as +Gobion was, in the light of Oxford experience, to feel that _he_ was the +cynic and man of the world, he was somewhat doubtful of a man who +appeared to him to be a realization of what he might himself become. +Cynicism, he thought, is now my plaything; it is this man's master, and +he has lost the savours of life. I wonder if Father Gray was right. He +often said that up to thirty a man might be happy with no moral sense; +but after---- + +He saw dimly a foreshortened view of the future. It was on this night +that the confidence in his own ability to be happy in evil began to be a +little undermined. This chance meeting with a man weary of life, and not +interested in death, a man with an aching, futile soul, whom he never +saw again, was fraught with tremendous importance to his future career. +On this his first night in London the seeds were sown which led to the +final pose in Houndsditch. + +A celebrated lady novelist (she is now in Colney Hatch, but very clever) +once said to the writer of these memoirs that literature, or rather +journalism, is little more than a big game of bluff. Her remark was +quite true. The art of the thing consists in getting the keynote of +twenty different publics, and writing on those lines for the twenty +different papers that represent their views. + +This is not the way to make a reputation, but it is certainly one of the +ways in which the literary adventurer may make a certain amount of +money. Gobion knew this well. The conquest was mean and the reward not +far from meagre; but at his age and with his past he could not hope for +much more, and there was a bustling excitement in it which seemed to him +most desirable. + +He could not specialize; he had no fixed opinions. It was impossible for +him to take up a decided line in his work. + +At Oxford the exigencies of his career had forced him to have no +opinions, but simply to adopt the policy of the set he happened to be +with. He belonged to no party, and in moral views, though he was +apparently in agreement with both, he titillated the men of a clean and +decent life, and amused their opposites, while he borrowed money from +both with a cheerful impartiality. As far as he could dispassionately +reckon them up, his mental assets were a felicity and facility of +expression, more or less wide reading, and a power of intuition and +knowledge of the public mind that was almost devilish in its +infallibility. + +After breakfast next morning, that meal so dear (in more senses than +one) to the undergraduate, obviously the first thing to be done was to +secure a place to dwell in. It was not wise to stay on at the hotel a +moment longer than was necessary; the expense was too great. He thought +at once of the Temple. It was a good address, and near most things. He +knew enough of London to understand that Bloomsbury was clerk-land, and +though cheap, quite impossible. Westminster was better, but not quite +central enough. Finally, after some trouble, he took two first-floor +rooms in one of the quiet streets running from the Fleet Street end of +the Strand to the Embankment. They were well-furnished bachelor rooms, +with a low window-seat from which a glimpse could be caught of +red-sailed barges with yellow masts of pitch-pine floating slowly down +the tide, while on late wintry afternoons the sunsets stained the brown +water with a grim and sullen glory. + +Gobion had a lurking hope that he might meet the comic landlady that Mr. +Farjeon writes about so nicely in the flesh. He was doomed to +disappointment. The person, called Mrs. Daily, who owned the house had +no peculiarities, and nothing to suggest the type he was in search of +save rotundity of form. He was loth to think the comic landlady was a +fabulous monster, or an extinct one--the lady who says, "Which Mister +Jones come tight last blessed hevening has hever was, and which I 'ad to +bump 'is 'edd on the stairs to keep 'im quiet while the girl and I +'elped 'im up to the third floor back." Was she really fabulous? It was +a sorrowful reflection. + +The same day that he took the rooms he moved from the West and took +possession. He had dined at the hotel before he left, and when he had +unpacked his portmanteaux he sat before the fire feeling horribly dull +and uneasy. + +He was not inclined to go out to a theatre or bar, and the men he knew +in town, mostly journalists, were all hard at work now in Fleet Street. + +The sensation of _ennui_ was new to him, and at first quite overbearing. +Gobion was in personal matters strong-willed, and after a time this +trained faculty of will helped him, and, with an effort almost heroic in +its strength, he sat down at the table and began to review a book for +_The Pilgrim_. It was a collection of essays by a well-known priest on +some doctrinal aspects of church teaching that he had before him, and it +was sent to him partly because he was known to have had some connection +with the High Church party, and the editor assumed that he would have +enough superficial knowledge of the subject to write a clever and +flippant review. + +_The Pilgrim_ had been bought at a low ebb in its fortunes by its +present editor, James Heath, for a thousand pounds, lock, stock, and +barrel. Before it came into his hands it was an unsavoury little print, +which published little else but impressionist criticisms of the +music-halls and fulsome reviews of evil books, under the direction of a +man who was a personified animal passion roughly clothed in flesh. + +Now it was all changed. The tone of _The Pilgrim_ was immoral as before, +and the column headed "The Pilgrim's Scrip" as grossly personal as ever, +but the personalities were more artistic, the immorality the immorality +of culture. + +The paper was never low. The sale was good, for all the young men and +women who considered themselves clever, and who, under the comprehensive +shield of "soul," sucked poison from strange flowers, bought it and +quoted it. + +Heath was smart and cynical in his conduct of the paper, though in +private life he lived at Putney, collected stamps, and read Miss +Braddon's novels to his wife after dinner. He knew quite well that +realism was mechanism, and he never welcomed photography as art, but as +the people who bought his literary wares did not understand these +things he never enlightened them, which was natural. + +The book that Gobion was reviewing he had entrusted to him willingly. He +was an Oxford man himself, and still kept up some communication with his +friends there, and he had heard indirectly that Gobion had received +various benefits from the High Church party. His knowledge of Gobion +taught him that he would do a delightfully clever and malicious review. + +The clergyman who had written the book was a rather noisy Anglican +divine, who preached the gospel of unity in art and religion at the top +of his voice. He deprecated and eloquently denounced the new literature +of the day. As _The Pilgrim_ was the outward and visible head of what +Canon Emeric denounced as very little short of devilish, Heath was +naturally anxious that the review should, in journalistic phrase, "crab" +the sale of the book among his readers. + +Now this Canon Emeric had met Gobion at a garden party, and found him +well informed in the history of his campaign against art for art's sake. +Finding that Gobion agreed with his views, he had asked him as a +special favour to call on his son, who had just come up to Christchurch +from Marlborough. Gobion did call, and asked the youth to meet +Sturtevant, and the poor boy, dazzled by being in the society of men of +whom he heard everyone talking, made a fool of himself and came to utter +grief, much to the pecuniary benefit of Condamine, Sturtevant, and +Gobion. It was a disgraceful affair, and though some rather acrimonious +correspondence had passed between the Canon and Gobion, the matter had +been hushed up. + +When Gobion got well into his work the ennui passed away and he worked +hard, turning out a very clever and caustic review. To the pleasure of +creation, always a keen one with him, was added the delight of writing +something which, if he saw it, would pain his adversary grievously. And +Gobion meant to take very good care that he _did_ see it. + +He ended the column by saying:-- + + "Whether these essays were worth writing is of course a question + which lies between Canon Emeric and his publisher. That they are + not worth reading we have no hesitation in saying. + + "If anyone were so childish as to take the advice given in this + book seriously, he would find that all the time he could spare + from worship he would spend in neglecting the obligations of + religion." + +It took him about two hours to produce the criticism in its finished +state, and then he began to have a last smoke before going to bed. As +with so many men, he found that at no time did his ideas come so +rapidly, or shape themselves so well, as during the smoking of that last +cigarette. + +The fire was blazing, and he drew his chair up closer, leaning back and +enjoying in every nerve a moment of intense physical ease. + +There was no more innocent picture to be found in London than the +well-furnished room lit by the dancing firelight, with the handsome +young man in the chair lazily watching the blue cigarette smoke slowly +twisting itself into strange fantastic shapes. The powers of Asmodeus +were here a failure. + +Next day, when he had written to his Oxford friends and to Marjorie +Lovering, his sweetheart in the country, he went to _The Pilgrim_ +office with his review and saw Heath. The two editorial rooms were on +the second floor looking out into the Strand. Big bare places littered +with paper, cigarette ends, and type-written copy, with none of the tape +machines, telephones, and fire-calls that are found in the offices of a +daily. Heath was seated at a writing-table "making up" the issue for the +week, while his assistant, a man named Wild, was looking through a batch +of cuttings from Romeike's in the hope of finding what he called "spicy +pars" for the front page. Gobion was well received, and after he had +explained that he was going to stay in town, and was open for any amount +of work, he was offered a permanent salary of two pounds ten shillings a +week, to do half the reviewing for the paper. Naturally he accepted at +once, and was pleased at his good luck, for though the pay was small it +was regular. + +Heath was a very large, fat man, with no hair on his face, and a quick, +nervous smile which ended high in the pendant flabbiness of his cheeks. +He was well and fashionably dressed in dark grey, the frock coat, +tight-fitting as it was, making his vast size and huge hips seem the +more noticeable. He was smoking a cigar, and gave Gobion one. + +It was lunch time when the bargain was concluded, and Gobion, Wild, and +Heath went out together. Gobion, who, obeying the precept of Iago, had +put money in his purse, asked them to lunch with him at Romano's. Heath +laughed. + +"My _dear_ Yardly Gobion, lunch at Romano's! No thanks; it would cost +you five pounds and be far too respectable. No, you shall certainly pay +for the lunch--eh Wild?--but I will show you where to get it." + +He turned up a side street and entered a small court, not far from the +stage door of the Lyceum, at the end of which was a door. They went in +and found a suite of three largish rooms opening one out of the other. +The first was fitted up as a restaurant, while the other two were +smoking-lounges with a bar in each. Comfort, brutal unæsthetic comfort, +was the most obvious thing in all three rooms. The chairs were +comfortable, the carpets soft, while big cheery fires burnt in the open +grates. No one was in the dining-room, but through the half-open +curtains, which separated the lounge from the dining-room, came snatches +of conversation, the sound of soda-water corks, and the shrill laughter +of a London barmaid, than which few things are more unpleasant. + +The three journalists sat down at a table by the fire, and a waiter +brought the menu. + +Mr. Heath's rather impassive face lighted up, and he read the list +eagerly. Eating and drinking were of tremendous importance to him. + +The food was ordered, and Gobion asked them what they would drink. +Heath, with a sublime disregard for bulk, ordered lager; the other two, +simple "halves" of bitter. While the meal was in progress a man came in +from a side door. Heath called him, introducing him to Gobion as Mr. +Hamilton, the owner of the place. + +Wild explained to Gobion that he was now free of the "copy shop." "You +see," said he, "this is a place almost entirely used by journalists of a +non-political kind. Everyone knows everyone else, and Hamilton knows us +all by name. An outsider who wanders in here is not encouraged to repeat +his visit, unless he is vouched for by someone, for the place is really +more like a club than a public bar." + +After lunch they went into the lounge, which was filled with men, mostly +young, who all seemed to know one another by their Christian names. +Heath was hailed cordially. + +A man sitting on the table stood up, and said theatrically, "Enter the +Pilgrim, arch-druid of the loving Mountain--slow music. Well, my fat +friend, what wicked scandal do you come fresh from concocting? What lewd +pars are even now in the copy box at 162, Strand?" + +The Pilgrim grinned. "Gentlemen, let me introduce my latest permanent +recruit, Mr. Yardly Gobion. He has just been sent down from Exeter." +Gobion was welcomed as a brother, and in half an hour had taken up his +favourite position on the hearthrug. + +Exerting himself to the utmost, he found he could produce much the same +impression as he did in Oxford, and he was a pronounced success in +perhaps one of the most critical coteries in London. + +They were critics of everything, criticism was in their veins, they +lived on it; they were "the men who had failed in literature and art." + +Every now and then a man or two on an evening paper would come in +hastily for a drink, and there was a quick interchange of +technicalities, a chorus of experts, sharp, clipped, allusive; the +latest wire from the Central News, the newest story from the clubs, the +smartest headline of the afternoon. + +Gobion soon caught the note and was voted an acquisition. Although he +was of a somewhat finer grain than most of these men, he recognized the +type instantly. Cheap cynicism was the keynote of most of the +conversation, and his lighter side revelled in it. Most complex of all +men, he could suck pleasure from every shade of feeling. Lord Tennyson's +beautiful line: "A glorious devil large in heart and brain," fitted him +exactly. With his intellect he might have been a saint, instead of which +he was sublime in nothing whatever. With the face of an angel, he loved +goodness for its beauty, and sin for its excitement. + +Before he left the "copy shop" he had picked up several good stories, +and saw his way to at least half a dozen scandalous paragraphs, which +he would send to a provincial paper with which he had some connection. + +He went away, being pressed to come regularly, and Mr. Hamilton met him +going out, expressing his pleasure at seeing any "friend of Mister +Heath's and member of the fourth hestate, 'oping as the pleasure will be +repeated." Not being a journalist, the worthy landlord had a high +opinion of the press. + +Gobion left with Wild, and they strolled down towards Fleet Street. + +"Drop in at my place some evening, will you?" he said to his companion. + +"Thanks very much. I will, certainly. You must come and look me up when +you've time. I am at present sharing a flat with Blanche Huntley, whom +you may have heard of. I suppose you don't mind?" + +"I, my dear fellow? Rather not; delighted to come. Do you turn off +here?" + +"Yes, I'm going to the Temple station; good-bye." + +Gobion had heard of Miss Huntley. "How very nasty some men are in their +tastes," he thought; "it's all rather horrid. I'll go to evensong +somewhere." Not the better, but the finer side of him woke up, and he +felt the necessity of a quieting and poetic influence to counteract the +clever sordidness of the afternoon. He took a cab to Pimlico, where he +knew churches were plentiful, and after a little search found what he +wanted not far from Victoria Station. + +The church was only lit by the candles on the high altar and a solitary +corona over the stall of the clergyman. Gobion was quite alone. The +shadows and gloom of the building were thrown into a deeper gloom, an +added mystery, by the radiance above. A young priest, of the earnest +Cuddesdon type, walked in all alone, his steps echoing mournfully on the +flagged chancel floor. He gave a slight start of pleasure when he saw +that there was a congregation, a young man, too!--the poor curate had +never before seen such a phenomenon at a weekday evensong. + +They said the psalms together, Gobion's sweet voice echoing down the +long, dark aisles. + +The clergyman felt an instinctive sympathy. He saw that Gobion was +feeling to the full the influence of the hour and place, the musical +cadence of the verse, and he responded in his turn with a newer sense of +the poetry of worship, throwing deep feeling into his voice. It was a +keen, æsthetic pleasure to both of them, though the priest felt +something more, but it put Gobion on good terms with himself at once. He +had roused emotion of a sort, and the rousing seemed to sweep away the +contamination of the day. + +He bowed low to the distant crucifix on the altar on leaving the +building, as a man who had tasted a sweet morsel, with shadowy and +pleasant thoughts--the sense of a finer glory. + + + + + CHAPTER IV. + + _THE CAMPAIGN._ + + +When a few unconsidered trifles have been thrown out at score, to a +middle-aged business man the world is a bundle of shares and bills +receivable. To most young men it is a girl or several girls. For some +girls it is a young man. For some other people it is a church, a bar, a +coterie--for Yardly Gobion it was himself. Realizing this in every +nerve, for the next few weeks he devoted himself to making acquaintances +and impressions. + +He did no writing beyond his weekly contribution to _The Pilgrim_, but +went abroad and looked around, making himself a niche before he essayed +anything further. He managed to get about to one or two rather decent +houses, and greatly consolidated his position at the "copy shop." His +idea was to keep quiet till Sturtevant came up to town, for he thought +that very little could stand against such a combination. Accordingly he +had a pleasant time for the next few weeks. His work did not take him +more than four hours a day, and now that his circle of acquaintance was +so much enlarged there was always plenty of amusement. He could always +enjoy the small change of transient emotion by a visit to the church at +Pimlico, where in the lonely services he felt (sometimes for nearly an +hour) a sorrow at his life and a yearning for goodness. + +His mental attitude on these occasions was a strange one, and one only +found in people possessing the artistic temperament; for he seemed to +stand aloof, and mourn over the grossness of some dear friend; he could +detach his mind from his own personality, and feel an awful pity for his +own dying soul. Then after these luxurious abandonments, these +delightful lapses into religious sentimentality, he would seize on +pleasure as a monkey seizes on a nut, finding an added zest in the +pursuit of dissipation. One thing in some small degree he noticed, and +that was that this alternation of attitude was slightly weakening his +powers of taste. The sharpest edge of enjoyment seemed blunted. + +One night, about a month after his arrival in town, he dined out in +Chelsea with some friends, driving back to his rooms about eleven +o'clock, very much in love with himself. On this particular evening he +had not tried to be smart or clever. There had been several other +ultra-modern young men there; and seeing that the hostess--a charming +person--was wearied of their modernity and smart sayings, he affected +quite another style, pleasing her by his deferential and chivalrous +manner, the simplicity of his conversation. A fresh instance of his +power always tickled his vanity, and he drove home down the Strand, his +soul big with a hideous egoism. + +He paid the driver liberally, for he was generous in all small matters, +and opening the door with his latch-key went upstairs. He entered the +room, and to his immeasurable surprise found it brilliantly lit with gas +and candles. On the table was a half-empty bottle of champagne and a +bedroom tumbler. + +In a chair on the right side of the fireplace sat Sturtevant in his +shirtsleeves, smoking a cigarette, while on the other side of the fire +was a young lady dressed in the van of the fashion, also smoking. Her +hat was off, and her hair was metallically golden. + +"Where--the--devil--did you spring from?" said Gobion. + +"My good friend--not before a lady, please," said Sturtevant with a +grin. + +The lady waved her cigarette in the air. "Spit it out, old man; don't +mind me!" she said. + +Gobion looked helplessly from the lady to Sturtevant and back again. +These things were beyond him. + +"Allow me," said Sturtevant. "Mr. Yardly Gobion, Miss--er--I don't know +your name, my dear." + +"Me?" said the young lady. "My name don't matter. I'm off; so long, +boys." + +"Will you explain?" said Gobion. "I am rather bewildered." + +"Well, it's in this way. I got up to town about six this evening, and +went to the Temple. I found my chambers in an excessively filthy state, +with no fire, my laundress not expecting me till to-morrow. I dined at +the 'Monico,' and met that damsel in Piccadilly; and, in short, we have +been spending the evening under your hospitable roof, aided by a bottle +of fizz from the 'Grecian.'" + +"I see. Well, if you don't mind, old man, don't bring that sort in. I +like them anywhere but in my rooms. A _demoiselle de trottoir_ should +stay----" + +"On the _trottoir_--quite so. I won't offend again; only I wanted +someone to amuse me, and I expected you'd be late. Now look here; can +you put me up for the night? my chambers are in a horrible mess." + +"Oh, I should think so; I'll ask the landlady." + +At half-past eleven the next morning Gobion got up, after some trouble +getting Sturtevant out of bed; and they began a composite meal which the +president called "brunch" soon after twelve. + +Some letters were waiting. One was a pathetic appeal from an Oxford +tailor for "something on account." Gobion said "damn" (the Englishman's +shortest prayer), and threw it into the fire. Another was a letter from +Scott, strong, earnest, and loving. He passed it to Sturtevant, who read +it and said, "Man seems to have kept it a little too long in a hot +place. Trifle high, don't you think?" + +The third ran:-- + + "MY DEAR CARADOC, + + "Marjorie and I are coming up for a fortnight to stay with my + mother in Kensington. We hope to see a good deal of you, as you + say you have deserted Oxford for a time to take up some literary + work in London. + + "Marjorie tells me to say that you must meet our train--the 4.30 + at Victoria, but don't put yourself out. + + "Yours affectionately, + + "GERALD LOVERING." + +"Hallo," said Gobion, "my girl's coming up!" + +"Didn't know you had one; has she any money?" + +"A little, I think, and her father looks on me as an eligible; he +doesn't know I've been sent down, and I don't intend he shall. I have to +meet the 4.30 this afternoon." + +"Well, I wanted to talk over our plans some time to-day. When will you +come to my chambers?" + +"This evening, I should think. I must work till four; I've a novel to do +for _The Pilgrim_, and I've not read a line yet." + +"Oh, don't bother about that. 'Smell the paper-knife' instead; let's go +to the 'copy shop.'" + +"Afraid I can't; I must do it. Look here, I will come round about ten +this evening. Don't be drunk." + +"Right oh! I'll go back now and get my rooms into some sort of order." + +He rolled a cigarette and roamed about the room, looking for his hat. +"It's gone to the devil, I think," he said. + +"In that case you'll find it again some day. There it is, though--under +the sofa. I thought you didn't believe in the devil." + +"Satan may be dead, as the hedonists think; but I expect someone still +carries on the business." + +When he had gone Gobion got to work, and wrote steadily till three, +when he went to the "copy shop" to get something to eat. They kept him +waiting some little time. Albert, the waiter, who was supposed to be +smart in his profession, on this occasion hid his talent (no doubt in a +napkin), and Gobion had only a minute to spare when he got to Victoria. + +The train curved into the station and pulled up slowly. He made for the +door of a first-class carriage where he saw Mr. Lovering getting out. +The parson was a little man, all forehead and nose. When Gobion came up +he was struggling with a bundle of rugs and umbrellas. + +"Ah, dear boy, you have come then. So good of you. Get Marjorie out +while I find our luggage." + +Then Marjorie came down from the carriage, glowing with health and +spirits, her dark eyes flashing when they saw Gobion. + +"Dearest," he said. She put her little gloved hand into his, looking up +in his face, while his blood ran faster through his veins. + +"Caradoc, dear, it _is_ so jolly to see you again; we are going to stay +in London for over a fortnight, and you shall take me about everywhere. +Oh, here's father." + +The little man bustled up. He was one of those dreadful people whom a +railway journey excites to a species of frenzy. He ran up and down the +platform, dancing round the truck which held his baggage, holding a +piece of paper in his hand, muttering, "One black bag--yes; two corded +trunks--yes; one hat-box--yes; two boxes of ferns--yes; one bundle of +rugs--y--NO! Marjorie! _where_ are the rugs? Gobion, I _know_ I had the +rugs _after_ we got out--a big bundle with a striped red and green one +on the outside." + +"You're carrying it, aren't you, Mr. Lovering?" + +"Dear me! so I am. How very stupid of me! Now if you will get a cab I +should be so obliged--a four-wheeler, mind!" + +Gobion secured one and came back, standing by Marjorie while the luggage +was hoisted on the roof. + +"I do hate a silly old four-wheeler!" she said. + +"Never mind, dearest, soon we'll go about in a hansom together to your +heart's content--jump in! May I call to-morrow, Mr. Lovering?" + +"Yes, yes, dear boy--you know the address. Good-bye for the present." + +Gobion left the station with a sense of _bien-être_. He remembered that +he was not due at the Temple till ten, wondering what he should do with +himself. Just as he was going out of the gates that rail off the +station-yard from the street, a cab dashed up, the occupant evidently in +haste to catch a train. Unfortunately, just as it was coming into the +yard, the horse swerved and fell, and the man inside was shot out past +Gobion, his head striking the curbstone with fearful force. Death was +almost instantaneous. Gobion rushed up and lifted him in his arms, but +it was of no use. In a short time two policemen came up, and after +taking Gobion's name as a witness of the occurrence, placed the body on +a stretcher, moving off with it followed by the crowd. The whole affair +did not last ten minutes. + +Gobion stood by himself staring at the blood on his clothes. He was +moving away, when he saw the card-case of the dead man was lying in the +gutter, where it had been jerked when he fell. He picked it up, giving a +start of surprise when he saw the name SIR WILLIAM RAILTON, a prominent +member of the government in power. + +All the horror of the scene passed away in a flash. He was a journalist +pure and simple now, with an hour's start of any man in London. +Hurriedly wiping his clothes, he ran over the road to Tinelli's, an +Italian restaurant, and, ordering pens, paper, and a flask of Chianti, +wrote furiously a brief account, about a quarter of a column long. He +made five copies, and then got into a cab and drove hard to Fleet +Street, leaving his card and an account at the news-office of each of +the big dailies. + +Then came the reaction, and he staggered home, faint with hard work and +the horror of what he had seen. He put on another suit, not feeling +himself till he had roused his spirits with a copious brandy and soda. + +This instinct of the journalist is a curious thing; while it lasts it is +a hot fever, brutal almost in its vehemence. A man possessed by it +forgets everything but the fierce joy of his work, and a deep exaltation +in the possession of exclusive news; but the reaction is bad for the +nerves. + +Sturtevant's chambers in the Temple were distinctly comfortable. A large +room panelled in white, with doors opening round it into bedrooms. A gay +Japanese screen protected a cosy corner by the fire, fitted up with a +lounge, an armchair, two little tables, and a standard lamp. It was all +more elaborate than his Oxford rooms, because at Oxford he was too well +known for his position to depend on externals--while in London they were +part of his stock-in-trade. It was a room in which laziness seemed a +virtue, with numberless contrivances for comfort. Corners for elbows, +shaded reading lamps, the best of tobacco, and a speaking-tube from the +fireside to the outer passage of the chambers, so that on hearing a +knock, Sturtevant could tell an unwelcome visitor that he was not at +home, but was expected back about five, without opening the door. + +"Now," he said, when they had settled down comfortably, "we shall be +quite undisturbed all night. We have a good fire, tobacco, and drink of +the best; let us seriously map out our little campaign." + +"Take the evening papers first then," said Gobion. "Now there is the +_Moon_, an organ devoted to playfully redressing wrongs. We will do an +article for it on 'How Barmaids Live.' We can describe the horrors of +their lot: a sleeping-room, 12 feet by 12, with six girls in it, and a +window that won't open; the insults they are exposed to, _et cetera_." + +"Do you think that will take?" + +"Yes, and I'll tell you why. The ordinary beast who reads the _Moon_ +loves anything about a barmaid; they are his society." + +"Where shall we get our facts?" + +"Invent them, of course; there is no need for investigation. We can make +it much more interesting without. Put it down: 'Barmaid--_Moon_.' Now we +come to the _Resounder_. We must try quite a different line. It's a +newspaper in a strait waistcoat, so to speak, and it's just been +subsidized by the anti-gambling people. How would 'The Gambling Evil at +the Universities' do? We could easily make some astounding revelations, +and your name as president of the Union would have weight with the +editor. What else is there?" + +"Well, there's the _Evening Times_ and the _Wire_," said Sturtevant. + +"Yes; I think with them we must do short stories. I have three or four +MSS. not yet printed which I will revise. All these things shall go in +under your name, and I will invent two-stick pars about celebrities, and +send three or four to each paper. For instance-- + + 'It is not generally known that the Queen has a great liking for + that very plebeian dish, tripe and onions. Indeed, so fond is Her + Majesty of this succulent preparation, that a few sheep are + always kept in the home paddocks of each of the royal residences + to be in readiness if Her Majesty should suddenly express her + desire. They are mountain bred, and are brought from the + Highlands of Scotland as soon as they can travel without their + dams.' + +The British public love this kind of thing." + +As Gobion suggested an article, one of them put it down on a piece of +paper with the name of the journal to which they proposed to send it. + +"I have a beautiful idea," said Sturtevant, after a pause. + +"Yes?" + +"Look here, you know all the High Church goings-on at Oxford, don't +you?" + +"Yes, but why?" + +"There's a paper run in London called _The Protesting Protestant_, which +discovers a new popish plot every week. Well, you supply me with enough +facts and names to prove that there is widespread conspiracy going on to +Romanize the undergraduates. See?" + +"Ripping!" + +"Yes, but wait a minute, the best part is to come. _Then_ you go to the +opposition High Church paper with a letter of introduction from Father +Gray, and answer my attack and so on for the next few weeks, and divide +the swag"; and he leaned back in his chair with a cigarette, with an air +of conscious merit. + +"This is more than smartness, Sturtevant," said Gobion, wagging his head +at the tobacco-jar, "this is genius." + +"We must be careful in what we say. It would be unpleasant to be +imprisoned for a portion of our unnatural lives." + +"Yes, we will hint more than we state. Style is the art of leaving out." + +They went on like this for a good part of the night, arranging their +plans, inventing new scandal, and making notes of useful lies. + +Towards morning they had settled enough for a week's continuous work; +only proposing, however, to deal with the less reputable papers, for +they both knew well that there was no chance with any respectable sheet. + +Just as Gobion was going, Sturtevant said, "What about typing? we can't +send them in MSS." + +"I think I can manage that," said Gobion; "a man called Wild, the +sub-editor of _The Pilgrim_, is living with that girl Blanche Huntley, +who was mixed up in the Wrampling case. She used to be a typewriter, and +she has a machine still. Moreover she'd be glad to earn a pound or two +for pocket money; Wild isn't generous. I wonder, by the way, if any of +the things we propose to write are true?" + +"Possibly; nature is always committing a breach of promise against the +journalist." + +They arranged not to begin the work till the Friday morning, as Gobion +wished to have a day to spend with Marjorie. + +In the morning he called in Kensington, and Mr. Lovering, with a chilly +Christian smile, in which perchance lingered some reminiscence of his +youth, left the two young people together. + +Soon after, Gobion was sitting at Marjorie's side, with his arm round +her waist and her head delightfully near his. Melodiously he whispered +his joy at seeing her again, holding her little, tender, perfumed hand. +He called forth all his powers of pleasing, and paid her delicate +compliments, like kisses through a veil, compliments such as girls love, +the refinements of adoration arranged neatly in a _bouquet_. + +Marjorie was a damsel of many flirtatious loves, though perhaps Gobion +was her especial favourite, he was so extremely good-looking; but she +was the sort of girl that took nothing but chocolates seriously. As her +mother had died when she was quite young, she had been sent to a +boarding school, and had caught the note. She had no mind--girls of this +sort never have--but she was adorably pretty, which, to most men, is +much better. + +They both pretended they were very fond of one another, Marjorie because +she liked to be kissed and adored, and Gobion because, after bought +loves, he found a pleasant freshness. It was not only better and holier, +but more piquant. At times, now past, he had persuaded himself that her +influence was ennobling and purifying, but the cynicism engendered by +evil was burning this feeling out. + +He was rapidly getting into the condition when everything loses its +savour. Despite his emotional and sympathetic nature, the least glimpse +of higher things was going, and though he put the thought from him, he +knew in his inmost soul that the time was approaching when life would +have nothing more left. Meanwhile it was pleasant to linger in this +last gleam of sunshine--to run his fingers through his lady's hair. + +He spent the day at the house, meeting old Mrs. Lovering at lunch. She +was a lady of the old school, with a black knitted shawl, and the three +graces pictured on a cornelian brooch. She disapproved of her +granddaughter as too modern, and taking things too much for granted. +Indeed, the old lady had a dim idea that Marjorie must be one of the +"new" women she had read of in the papers, though if she had ever seen +that sexless oddity she would have rescinded her opinion with a gasp of +relief. + +After a drive in the park, sitting on the front seat of the barouche +with Marjorie, and holding her hand under the carriage rug, Gobion went +home. The fire had gone out, leaving the room dark and cheerless, in +sympathy with his thoughts. But then came a stroll for a few yards in +the bright and animated street to the "copy shop," and by the time he +got there his spirits had returned. + +They were all there, and he soon forgot everything else in the pride of +dominating them and making his presence felt. + +Sturtevant, who was known in the place, came in, and they had a jolly +riotous time, the estimable Mr. Heath having to be sent home in a cab +long before closing time. + +Sturtevant drank till he was white and shaking, but kept quite sober, +and was as caustic as ever. Wild dramatically related, amid shouts of +laughter, how he had first met his _protégé_ Blanche Huntley, when he +was reporting in the divorce court. It was one of his dearest memories. +Altogether it was a most successful evening. + +Then came a week of terribly arduous work, from nine in the morning till +late at night, varied for Gobion by two or three flying visits to the +Loverings. Night after night they wrote with the whiskey bottle between +them. MS. after MS. was finished and sent off to be typed; and then when +they had produced a number of articles, paragraphs, and stories, +possibly unequalled in London for their brilliancy and falsity, they +both went to bed in Sturtevant's rooms for a day and a half, utterly +speechless and worn out. + +When the copy was despatched, for Gobion there was a period of peace and +Marjorie. And for three or four days, while Sturtevant sat in his rooms +and drank, Gobion sunned himself in a cleaner air, while the "copy shop" +was deserted. + + + + + CHAPTER V. + + _A PSYCHOLOGICAL MOMENT._ + + +There was once a wood-louse, who, being dissatisfied with his position, +called himself a Pterygobranchiate. This arrogation of dignity was much +resented by his friends. "You belong to the Bourgeoisie," they said to +him, "and we cannot call to mind that you have done anything to warrant +an assumption of this aristocratic title." "My good fools," said the +wood-louse, "you mistake the term 'Bourgeoisie.' The Bourgeoisie are not +a class. A Bourgeois is merely a man who has time to sit down, a chair +is not a caste." So saying he took another glass of log-juice, and +looked his friends steadily in the face. He was an epigrammatic +wood-louse. + +They returned somewhat abashed, and for a time, though he was not +liked, he was asked about a good deal; for as people said, "To have a +Pterygobranchiate in one's rooms lends a party such an air of +distinction." + +Our friend made some mistakes at first, for he could not resist the +dishes of dried wood _à la Française_ and the '74 log-juice that were of +frequent occurrence at the tables of the great. The result of this was +that Nemesis, in the shape of gastric pains, overtook him, and he had to +moderate his appetites. + +"Indigestion," he said, "is charged by God with the enforcement of +morality on the stomach, I will reform my habits." Another reason also +contributed to this wise decision, for one day, when going to the +kitchen for his boots, he heard the cook (an elderly wood-louse of +uncertain temper) say to the boy wood-louse who cleaned the knives and +helped in the garden: "Master's that independent and 'e smell so of +drink since 'e 's been a Pterygobranchiate, there's no bearin' with +'im." He realized how foolish he must look in the eyes of many good +people, so he pitched his new visiting cards into a rabbit-hole, and +once more returned to middle-class respectability and happiness. + +This story has seven morals, only one of which is wanted here, and that +is: "Any divergence from habit is generally attended with disastrous +results." This was the case with Gobion, who, in an unguarded moment, +told Mr. Lovering something approaching the truth, and so gave himself +away. + +The three or four days at the close of the Loverings' visit were very +enjoyable to him, especially after the hard work of the last week; but +unfortunately Mr. Lovering could not quite understand what he was doing +in London, and after a time bluntly asked him the reason for this change +of plans. Thereupon Gobion admitted that he had had a disagreement with +his father, and the parson putting two and two together arrived at a +guess that was not far short of the truth. + +Both of them were humbugs, but with this difference, that while Gobion +knew it and made it pay, Mr. Lovering prayed night and morning that he +might not find it out. The result was that the clergyman, who, as the +father of a most attractive damsel, naturally desired to sell her to an +eligible bidder, took Marjorie home at once, telling her that he had +been "greatly deceived" in Gobion, and dictating a polite little note +which she sent him. + +He got the letter while he was at breakfast, and read it slowly, trying +in vain to feel it as a blow. It was of no use, however, for it did not +even lessen his hunger for the meal before him. + +Then in a flash he realized what this callousness meant. It meant simply +this, that the actual moment had arrived when all higher aspirations had +deserted him, that he was inevitably and firmly bound to sin, while his +mind was allowed to realize the horror of it. + +His soul had passed into the twilight. + +He knew all this in the space of time that it took to pour out a cup of +coffee, but not a muscle of his face moved. + +He knew the reaction would be torture when it came--the torture of a man +damned before death--but until then there was the hideous joy of +absolute unrestraint. There would be no more even shadowy scruples, he +would frolic in evil over the corpse of a dead conscience. + +He rang the bell for some more bacon and a morning paper. While he was +reading a "Drama of the Day" article by Clement Scott, the landlady +knocked at the door, and said, "Please, sir, a boy messenger has brought +this, and is there any answer?" He took the note. + + "DEAR MR. YARDLY GOBION,--I and Veda are going to _The Liars_ + to-night, and we want you to escort us. Come to dinner first if + you can. + + "Yours, E." + +He scribbled an acceptance and sent it back by the boy. The invitation +came from a Mrs. Ella Picton, the wife of Lionel Picton, the editor of +the well-known paper _The Spy_. Gobion had been to her house several +times, and she had petted and made much of him. + +Her husband was a clever, sardonic man, who let his pretty wife do +exactly as she liked. He said that marriage resembled vaccination, it +might take well or ill, and as for him he put up with the result for +quietness. To his great amusement, his wife had almost persuaded +herself that she was in love with Gobion. He looked so young and fresh, +with such a pretty mouth, and such expressive eyes. She felt a desire to +taste all this dawn. + +Picton quite understood, and resolved to use Gobion for his own +purposes, as it seemed necessary to have him in the house. Accordingly +after dinner he asked him a good many questions about _The Pilgrim_ and +its editor. His tongue being loosened by champagne, Gobion made fun of +Heath, an easy subject of ridicule, and blasphemed against _The +Pilgrim_. + +"Heath is a sort of literary fat boy, an urchin Rabelais," he said. + +"Look here, I'll give you ten guineas for a column in _The Spy_, showing +up Heath and _The Pilgrim_. You needn't give names. Just make it racy, +and cut into the old elephant. You'll excuse my talkin' shop in my own +house, but I should like to have you on _The Spy_ very much." + +Gobion was flattered. _The Spy_ was disreputable, but big and important. +He agreed to do an article for the next issue, and as the arrangement +was concluded, the butler came in to say that the ladies were ready to +start. Bidding his host good-night, he went up to the drawing-room, +where Mrs. Picton and her sister Veda Leuilette were waiting. + +They drove to the "Criterion," and the air of the carriage was heavy +with the scent of flowers and a subtle odour of white lilac, and the +_frou-frou_ of skirts seemed to accentuate the perfume. They drove up to +the theatre, the footman springing down to open the door, and Gobion +helped the ladies out. As they went into the _foyer_ he noticed Wild and +Blanche Huntley going into the stalls. It was very pleasant to take care +of two strikingly pretty women, and Gobion was conscious of a wish that +some of his Oxford friends, who had imagined that his flight to London +practically meant starvation, could see him now. + +The house was full of celebrities. There were warm scents in the air, +and from their box they could see vaguely as through a mist a parterre +of bright colours, the swirl of a fan, the gleaming of white arms, and +the occasional sharp scintillation from a diamond ring or bracelet, +while beyond, the space under the circle was crowded with rows of white +faces framed in black. + +Mrs. Picton was dressed in pale blue _crêpe-de-chine_, looking very +lovely, and her violet eyes flashed a dangerous fascination while Gobion +and she consulted the programme. Soon after their entrance the band came +in, and began to play a lazy, swinging waltz, which seemed to Gobion to +harmonize strangely with the apricot light of the theatre. The whole +scene struck an unreal and exotic note; he felt a strange deadening of +thought, a dreamy sensuousness more physical than mental, and every time +Mrs. Picton leant back to make some remark, with a little flash of white +teeth framed in wine-red lips, her looks stung his blood. + +One of her hands lay on the cushion of the box, white and soft, with +rosy filbert nails. + +"How Botticelli would have loved to paint your hands," he said, speaking +a little thickly. + +"A portrait is always so unsatisfactory, don't you think?" + +"Perhaps; a looking-glass is a better artist than Herkomer." + +"Now you're going to be clever! Look at Mrs. Wrampling in the +stalls--fancy showing so soon after the divorce! Isn't she a perfect +poem, though?" + +"One that has been through several editions." + +"She's well made up, but she's put on a little too much colour." + +"Oh, she's not as ugly as she's painted." + +"Now you are much too nice a boy to be cynical." + +"The cynic only sees things as they really are." + +She laughed a silvery little laugh. "Who is that ugly man with her?" + +"That is _the_ man--Wilfrid Fletcher." + +"She must be fonder of his purse than of his person." + +"The most thorough-going of all the philosophies." + +"Who else is here that you know?" + +"Well, that very fat man in the third row is Heath, the editor of _The +Pilgrim_. He was at Exeter--my college--years ago." + +"I should have imagined that he was a University man." + +"Really! Why?" + +"He is so evidently an apostle of the Extension movement." + +"That's quite good! Heath is a clever man though, despite his size." + +"In what way?" + +"He manages to grasp the changeful modern spirit of the day exactly." + +"I think I was introduced to him once, somewhere or other." + +"I believe he does go into society." + +"Society condones a good deal." + +"It is condonation incarnate." + +She looked up at him, and blushed a little. "Perhaps it is as well?" + +"For some of us?" + +"_Si loda l'uomo modesto._" + +"Don't you think modesty is advisable? One never knows how far to go." + +"One should experiment, then; modesty is more original than natural +nowadays." + +"Originality is only a plagiarism from nature." + +She opened her fan, moving it quickly. She was not accustomed to be +fenced with like this. + +Gobion's senses were coming back to him, the voluptuousness had gone, +and after the first intoxication of her presence, he looked again and +found she did not interest him in the way she sought. After the first +act he offered to get them some ices, sending them by a man, while he +went to the buffet. + +Heath and Wild were there. "Hullo!" said the former, "who's that pretty +woman in your box?" + +"Picton's wife." + +"Lionel Picton?" + +"Yes." + +"I wouldn't advise you to get mixed up with that lot," he said, making +Gobion feel rather guilty as he remembered the article he was going to +do for _The Spy_. After a minute Wild moved away. + +"Such a joke," said Heath, with a grin. "Wild's brought little Blanche +Huntley, the typewriter girl, and both Mrs. Wrampling and Will Fletcher +are here, and they're saying that Wrampling himself is in the circle! +It's a dirty world, my boy, a dirty world." + +"I wouldn't quarrel with my bread and butter if I were you," said +Gobion; "you and I'd be in rather a hole if it wasn't for these little +episodes. Mrs. Grundy always was an indecent old person. Ta-ta, see you +after at the 'copy shop'?" + +"Yes, my wife's away in Birmingham, so I won't go home till morning." + +Gobion went back to the box, where he found Moro de Minter, the new +humourist, making himself agreeable. Gobion knew the man slightly, and +hated him. People said his real name was Gluckstein, and he was reported +to have been a ticket collector at Euston before he had come out as the +apostle of the ridiculous. He was holding forth on his latest book, and +he asked Gobion what he thought of the new humourists. + +"I have only met two sorts," he answered, "the disgustingly facetious +and the facetiously disgusting. Both are equally nasty." + +Miss Leuilette was rather nettled; she liked Minter. + +"And what do you think of the new critics of _The Pilgrim_ type, Mr. +Minter?" she asked. + +"They squirt venom from the attic into the gutter, and nobody is ever +hurt." After which passage of arms he left the box, and the curtain +went up on the Inn at Shepperford. + +After the play Gobion saw the ladies into their carriage, and Mrs. +Picton, as she pressed his hand, whispered him to come to tea the next +day. + +"I shall be quite alone," she said, with a side look. + +Then came the "copy shop" and a noisy supper, at which the latest sultry +story of a certain judge's wife was repeated and enjoyed. + +It struck Gobion more than ever what a drunken, rakish lot these men +were, but still he was very little better, only less coarse in his +methods, and it didn't matter. + +Lucy, the barmaid, was in great form. Someone had given her a copy of +_The Yellow Book_, with its strange ornamentation. + +"They do get these books up in a rum way now," she said, pointing to the +figures blazoned on the cover. + +"You shouldn't find fault with that, my dear," he said. "The fig-leaf +was the grandmother of petticoats"; and everyone roared. + +"Can anyone recommend me a new religion?" said a fat man who did +sporting tips for _The Moon_. + +There was a yell at once. "Flintoff wants a new religion." +"Theosophist!" "Absintheur!" "Jew!" "Mahomedan!" + +"Theosophist?" said the fat man; "no, I think not. Madame Blavatski was +too frankly indecent. Absintheur might perhaps suit if it wasn't for +Miss Marie Corelli. Jew is quite out of the question; there are two +difficulties, pork and another. Mahomedan! well, that isn't bad. As many +wives as you like--the religion of the henroost. Yes, I think I'll be a +Mahomedan." + +"How about drinks?" said Gobion. + +"Oh, damn! Yes, I forgot that, I must stick to Christianity after all." +He limped to the table to get a match. + +"What's the matter with your leg?" said Heath. + +"I hurt it last night going home in the fog." + +"You should try Elliman's--horse for choice." + +"I did, and I stank so of turpentine I was quite ashamed to lie with +myself." + +"You're not ashamed to lie here," said some feeble punster. + +"No, it's my profession. I'm a sporting prophet." + +Gobion suddenly remembered that he had heard nothing about the mass of +copy that had been sent out some days before. + +"Has Mr. Sturtevant been in to-night?" he asked the barmaid. + +"No, I haven't seen him for two or three days," she said. + +Gobion went quickly out into the Strand and walked to Sturtevant's +rooms. The gas flamed on the dingy staircase, making a hissing noise in +the silence, and shining on the white paint of the names above the +door--Mr. Mordaunt Sturtevant, Mr. Thompson Jones, Mr. Gordon. + +The "oak" was open, so Gobion went in, pushing aside the swing door at +the end of the little passage. + +A strong smell of brandy struck him in the face. He walked in, and +looked round the screen by the fire, starting back for a moment with a +sick horror of what he saw. + +The candles were alight before the looking-glass over the mantelpiece. +In front of it stood Sturtevant, with his back to Gobion. His thumbs +were in the corners of his mouth, and with his first fingers he was +pulling down the loose skin under his eyes, making the most ghastly +grimaces at his image in the mirror. + +Gobion stood still, petrified, and mechanically pressed the spring of +his opera hat, which flew out with a loud pop. Sturtevant wheeled round +like a shot, shaking with fear. When he saw who was there he gave a +great sob of relief and fell into a chair. + +"O God, how you startled me!" he said. + +"What on earth's the matter with you?" said Gobion; "you look as if you +were dying." + +The man was not good to look at. His skin was a uniform tint of +discoloured ivory, with red wrinkles round the eyes. His lips were dark +purple and swollen, his hands shook. + +"I'm so glad you've come; I've had a slight touch of D.T., and if you +hadn't come in I should have broken out again to-night." + +Gobion calmed him as well as he could, and in about an hour got him +into something like ordinary condition. + +"And now," he said, "how about our copy?" + +"By George, I've forgotten all about it; there are probably a lot of +letters in the box." + +They got them out. The first one they opened was a collection of +personal paragraphs sent in by Gobion, "Declined with thanks." The next +was a cheque from the _Resounder_ for four guineas, in payment of the +"Gambling at Oxford" article. They went on opening one after the other, +and at the end found that they had netted twenty-six pounds. + +Sturtevant got excited about it, and wanted to have some more brandy, +but Gobion managed to get him to bed, and locked the door, putting the +key in his pocket. He built up the fire, took Daudet's _Sappho_ from a +shelf, and passed the night on the sofa alternately reading and dozing. + +It took him three or four days to bring Sturtevant round to something +like form, most of which he spent in the Temple, occupying himself by +writing the attack on Heath for _The Spy_. + +It was the cleverest piece of work he had done, and when it was +finished it was with all the pride of an artist that he read it to +Sturtevant, and sent it to Blanche Huntley to be typed. + +Meanwhile he became at times horribly bored and low-spirited, and each +new attack accentuated the next, for he would rush into the lowest forms +of amusement to find oblivion. In the intervals of coarseness he called +on Mrs. Picton. + +Such society as was open to him soon began to pall, and he spent more +and more time at the "copy shop" or with Sturtevant in the Temple. + +These two men, who a few years ago were freshmen at Oxford, sat night +after night cursing and blaspheming all that most men hold sacred. + +They were colossal in their bitterness. + +Sturtevant said once, "Life is a disease; as soon as we are born we +begin to die. I shall die soon from D.T., and you'll write a realistic +study for _The Pilgrim_. Perhaps my life was ordained for that end." +Which, considering the degree the man had taken, and what his mental +abilities were, was about the bitterest thing he could have said. + +One night Sturtevant went to bed about two, leaving Gobion in the room +not much inclined for sleep. After an inspection of the bookcase, he +took down a Swinburne, and turned to "Dolores." + + "Come down and redeem us from virtue, + Our Lady of Pain," + +he read in the utter stillness of the night. + +Then he put the book down and sat staring into the fire, thinking +quietly of the literary merit of the poem, while its passion throbbed +through and through him--a strange dual action of mind and sense. + +Suddenly he looked up and saw a silver streak in the dull sky, the +earliest messenger of dawn pressing its sad face against the window. + +"I will go abroad," he said, "and see the day come to London." He went +out in the ancient echoing courts through the darkness, till he came to +the Embankment, and looked over the river. Far away in the east the sky +was faintly streaked with grey, the curtain of the dark seemed shaken by +the birth-pangs of the morning. He stood quite still, looking towards a +great bar of crimson which flashed up from over St. Paul's, showing the +purple dome floating in the mist. The western sky over the archbishop's +palace was all aglow with a red reflected light. Dark bars of cloud +stretched out half over heaven, turning to brightness as the sun rushed +on them. The deepening glow spread wider and wider, on and up, till the +silver greys and greens faded into blue, and the glory of the morning in +a great arch suffused the Abbey, the Tower, and all the palaces of +London. The sparrows began to twitter in the little trees on the +Embankment. + + + + + CHAPTER VI. + + _THE COUP._ + + +"He was one of those earnest people who feel that life ought to have +some meaning if they could only find it out," said Sturtevant, "and he +came in with my little brochure, _The Harmonies of Sin_, in his paw. He +was a sort of wrinkled romance. 'Sir,' he said, 'may I ask if you are +Mordaunt Sturtevant?' 'At your service,' I answered. Then he said, 'I +must tell you that I have felt it my duty to come and remonstrate with +you about this 'ere dreadful book.' I asked him to sit down, and pushed +over the decanter. He waved it away, tapping my book with his umbrella. +'You have unpaved hell to build your book with,' he said. 'Then my book +is made up of good intentions,' I answered, but he didn't see it. 'Think +of your pore soul,' he said. I told him I didn't know its address. +'Sir, you have exalted harlotry into a social force.' I told him the +harlot was the earthworm of society. He got up and retreated to the +door. 'Any _man_ would 'ate it,' he said. I asked him quite politely if +he considered himself a man. He remarked that he _was_ a man, 'made in +God's image, sir! in God's image!' 'The mould must have leaked,' I said. + +"At this he grew angry, pointing his umbrella at me and snorting. 'You +'ave all the vices, and aspire to all the crimes,' he shouted. When he +began to shout I'd had about enough, so I kicked him downstairs." + +"When did this episode occur?" + +"Oh, just before you came in." + +"What's the book about, I haven't read it." + +"Merely a little psychological analysis of a young girl's misdoings." + +"There's a sort of naked indecency about a young girl's soul, so I don't +think I'll read it. Pass the whiskey, will you? You've had enough. I +suppose you hurt your visitor considerably?" + +"Oh, he didn't really come, I only said that for the sake of saying +something, and because I thought how amusing such a man would be if he +did turn up." + +Gobion yawned. Both of them were very dull and miserable. + +The afternoon was all blind with rain swirling against the window in +sudden gusts. Footsteps echoed on the flags below with a monotonous +clank, while, more faintly, London poured into their ears a dreary hum, +a suggestion of wet cold streets. It was about four in the afternoon, +and Gobion having done some work in the morning was now in the Temple, +sitting in front of the fire, without any present interest. Restless and +miserable, he tried to think of Scott, of Father Gray, of the people who +cared for him, hoping for vague thrillings, little tender luxuries of +regret, but it was of no use. A short time ago he could have induced the +pleasing grief-bubble easily with a good fire and a little whiskey, and +at its bursting, enjoy a music-hall with its lights and laughter; but +now something seemed to have snapped. The curtain was down, the gas was +out, the house was cold and empty. He was no longer able to put on a +sentimental halo and act at himself as an approving audience. + +Sturtevant too was dull and lethargic. He was not emotional like the +other, but though a man of less charm, his attainments were greater, he +knew more, and now he also was struggling to think--to work. + +They were both silent for some time while the darkness closed in, the +rain outside pattering with an added weariness and the wind wailing up +from the river. At last Sturtevant took up a glass from the table and +threw it into the fire with an oath. + +"Laugh, you devil!" he said, "shout! be merry! be brilliant!" + +"Can't," said Gobion, "I keep my brilliancy for the comparative +stranger." + +"----and the positive _Pilgrim_, I suppose." + +"Exactly. Hallo! there's someone at the door." He shouted, "Yes!" it was +one of his little mannerisms never to say, "Come in." The door opened +and a girl came round the corner of the screen. It was Blanche Huntley, +Wild's mistress, dressed in a long macintosh dripping with rain. + +Both men jumped up surprised, Gobion helping her to take off her ulster, +while Sturtevant put her umbrella in the stand. + +She came to the fireside, a girl not unlike a dainty illustration in a +magazine, very neatly got up with a white froth of lace round her neck, +and a _chic_ black rosette at her waist. Certainly a pretty girl, with a +sweet rather tired mouth, well-marked eyebrows, and dark eyes somewhat +full, the lids stained with bistre. Gobion knew her, having met her at +Wild's, and rather liked her. She was a girl with ideas, and might have +made something of her life if she had not been mixed up in the famous +Wrampling Divorce Case, and been forced to leave her type-writing office +in the City. + +When ruin comes a man begs, a woman sells. + +She sat down, Gobion introducing her to Sturtevant, who looked with some +interest. "Fashion-plate in distress," was his mental comment. Gobion +thought, "Her youth is the golden background which shows up the sadness +of her lot; lucky man Wild though," a very fair index to the +individuality of the two men as far as such things go. + +"I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you, old man, and it's partly my +fault," she said. + +"What is it, Blanche?" + +"Well, we were sitting at lunch to-day--Tom wasn't going to the +office--when that old pig, Mr. Heath, came rushing in, half mad, waving +a paper in his hand, cursing and swearing till I thought they would hear +him in the street. He threw it on the table, and I noticed a column in +leaded type marked with blue pencil. 'There,' he said to Tom, 'there's a +nice thing to see about one's self! Some damn dirty skunk's been writing +this about me and _The Pilgrim_.' It was so funny to see him, I never +saw anybody in such a bate before; I looked over Tom's shoulder, and, +without thinking, said, 'Why, I typed that for Mr. Yardly Gobion.' +'What!' they both yelled. 'Well--I'm--damned! Curse the cad!' Excuse me +telling you all this. Well, he went on storming and raving, and said he +was going to sack you, and write you a letter you'd remember, and what +was more, crab you in every paper in London. I'm horribly sorry, it was +all through me." + +Sturtevant gave a long whistle. + +"Never mind, dear," said Gobion, "it doesn't matter, I don't care; what +a rag it must have been!" + +"I haven't seen the thing in print yet," said Sturtevant, "I'll go out +and get a copy." + +When he had gone, Blanche came closer to Gobion. "Poor boy," she said, +"I'm afraid you'll find things rather difficult now." + +"Never mind, dear, it doesn't matter, I've got past caring for most +things. Does Wild know you're here?" + +"Tom? oh no, he'd half kill me if he did. He never liked you much, you +know, he said you put on such a lot of Oxford side." + +"Isn't he kind to you, then?" + +"Oh, Lord, no, not now. He was at first, but he's getting tired." + +"I should cut the brute." + +"What would I do?" she said sadly, "what would I do? I've no character +or money or anything. I'd have to go to the Empire promenade, I expect." + +She stretched out her hands to the blaze wearily. + +"Poor little girl," he said, taking one of her hands in his, "poor +little girl, it's a nasty, miserable world." + +She said nothing for half a minute, and then she burst into an agony of +tears, dropping her head on his shoulder. + +"Oh, don't, dear, don't!" said Gobion, half crying too; "try to bear +up." + +"You don't know what it means. You're not an outcast." + +"Yes I am, dear, I'm a good deal worse than you. I have a hell, too. Be +a brave girl." + +She smiled faintly through her tears. + +"You are good," she said, "not like the other men." + +"I'm simply a blackguard; don't tell me I'm good." + +"You don't shrink from me." + +"I? Good God! you don't know what I am--sister." + +At that word she crouched down in her chair, passionately sobbing. + +"God bless you," she said, "God bless you." + +"You must leave him, dear, and get your living by your type-writing." He +pulled out his pocket-book and made a rapid calculation. "Twenty here +and ten at my rooms. Look here," he said, "I'm not hard up now; here's +three fivers. It will keep you going for a month or two. Make a new +start, little woman." + +She took the money and looked him in the face. Some thoughts are +prayers. + +"Good-bye," she said, "good-bye. If only I'd met you first." + +The man bowed his head, and they left the room hand in hand. When they +reached the lane she turned, and in the dim light of the flickering lamp +she saw that his face was wet. + +He took her little ungloved hand, raising it to his lips, still with +bowed head, and turning, left her without a word. + +When Sturtevant came in an hour afterwards he found him lying on the +floor dead drunk, with a little pool of whiskey dripping from the table +on to his hair. + + * * * * * + +"We must do highly moral articles for those papers which are calculated +not to bring a blush to the face of the purest girl (except in the +advertisements of waterproof rouge), or you might try _The Spy_. They +can hardly refuse your copy now," said Sturtevant, about three weeks +after the exposure. + +Gobion had found the girl spoke truly. Not a paper in London was open to +him. He was barred at the "copy shop," and was living on money borrowed +from Scott in a piteous appeal full of lies. He forwarded an article to +Picton, but it was sent back by return of post, with a sarcastic little +note, saying that Mr. Picton could not find himself sufficiently bold to +accept any further contributions. Things were getting rather desperate. +Oxford bills were coming in by every post to both of them. They were +nearly at their wits' end for money. + +At this juncture came a letter from Condamine. + + "OXFORD UNION SOCIETY. + + "DEAR GOBION,--The game is played almost to an end. Only one more + move, and that not till next June, to be taken. Then will be peace + at last. My latest has been of its kind a master-stroke, that is, + to disappear. Things were getting too hot for me, so I have gone + down to read. Everybody was getting suspicious, and eyed me + askance. Drage was sent down (another disappearance!) for lying + drunk with a friend from Oriel in the fellows' quad, and for + reviling the buck priest most blasphemously in that he had + awakened him. My tutor waxed very wroth with me. I was troubled + with frightful insomnia every afternoon, and often in the + morning--often finding it necessary to go to bed at midnight, rise + at two a.m. and work till five or so, and again retire. Perhaps + this was due to the fact that I had to sleep off certain matters + of no importance, and then awake early, which is a way of mine. + Drage's last moments in Oxford I soothed by fetching Father Gray + at ten p.m. Tommy had all sorts of ideas, Stage, Germany, + Colonies, every manner of starvation, so I applied his Reverence + as a last remedy, which succeeded. Many things I could tell you of + this, but not now. He (the Gray father) has got a rich young cub + with him, Lord Frederick Staines Calvert, and they are going to + town for a time to-day. The boy is without understanding--very + oofy--so if you are still _épris_ with the worthy parson you may + be able to make something out of it. + + "Farewell. Thine, + + "ARTHUR CONDAMINE. + + "TO CARADOC YARDLY GOBION." + +Gobion showed this to Sturtevant. "Do you think there's anything in it?" +he said. + +"Yes, I certainly do; you must make every effort to get hold of the boy. +We must think out a plan; I hope he's an ass. At present he's a +problem." + +"I'll find him out if I can get hold of him, but I don't quite see how +we're going to make any money out of it." + +"Do you remember," said Sturtevant slowly, "that dear lady I took to +your rooms when I first came up?" + +"Little beast! yes." + +"I've seen her since then; she lives in Bear Street off Leicester +Square, just behind the Alhambra. Now doesn't the diffused white light +of your intelligence supply the rest?" + +"No, I confess----" + +"Listen then. You must tell Father Gray that you are supporting yourself +by coaching, and that you are working in the East End. He knows about +those defence articles in the _Church Chimes_. Somehow or other he must +be got to think you're steady and trustworthy. Then you go about with +this young lord he's got and get well hold of him: you can be very +charming when you like. From what I have heard of his father, Lord +Ringwood, he's been brought up strictly. You must, therefore, take him +about a little--Empire, Jimmies, that sort of thing; show him life, till +he begins to long to go a little further, and to make sheep's-eyes at +the painted ladies in the stalls. Meanwhile I shall get hold of the Bear +Street girl and promise her a fiver if she'll help us. One night you and +Calvert dine out (give fizz and Benedictine after, it's exciting), and +when you get back to your rooms you find Marie as "Mrs. Holmes" waiting +to see you. Then I send you a telegram, and you apologise and go out, +promising to be back in half an hour. Come round to the Temple, where I +shall be waiting. We'll arrange with Marie that she shall have half an +hour to make Calvert cuddle her. Then I come in--the outraged +husband!--and kick up the devil's own row, swearing I'll get a divorce. +In the middle enter Mr. Gobion again. You persuade Marie and me to +leave. Then you soothe the ruffled boy, promising to try and arrange the +matter. You go out, consult with me, and touch him for a cheque to +square matters. I should think we might work a 'thou' almost." + +Gobion lay back in his chair, overwhelmed by the brilliancy of the idea. +"Won-der-ful! you're a master simply. It ought to be put on the market +in one pound shares; and I thought you a mere decadent story writer." + +Sturtevant smiled. "Don't say decadent," he said, "it's a misnomer now. +The public thinks decadence is the state of being different from Miss +Charlotte M. Yonge, while the æsthete----" + +"_Please_ don't begin to lecture on the utter." + +"Do you object to the utter then?" + +"I object to the utterer." + +"I am silent. The surly word makes the curst squirm." + +"That's worthy of Condamine." + +Very soon they both got bored again, when the excitement of the plotting +had evanesced. It was a consequence of their diseased mental state, this +constant overpowering _ennui_. Sturtevant went to the piano and began to +chant-- + + "There was a young fellow of Magdalen + Whose tutor accused him of dagdalen, + And of stretching his credit; + He wouldn't have said it + Had the youth been a peer or a lagdalen." + +"I hope our lagdalen will be profitable; if we do well we might go down +to the Riviera for a week or two." + +"That wouldn't be bad at all, the sunny South! I think I'll go west now +to the War Office and get Bobby Burness to come out for some lunch. Do +you remember him? little Pemmy man. He got a clerkship by interest. +Spends his time round the west now looking out for a moneyed female. +Jolly berth he's got, just puts his name in the south-east corner of a +few papers, and trots off to the park for the rest of the mornin'." + +As he went down the Strand he thought over Sturtevant's plan. It was a +good deal nearer the wind than he had dared to go before; however, the +thing was certain, something had to be done to raise money. He was not a +man who could live on thirty shillings a week, for, even though they +failed to amuse him, he could not go without the "extras" of life. He +did not, for instance, particularly care for Kümmell with his coffee, +but it was as much a necessity to him as a clean shirt. + +The morality of Sturtevant's scheme did not trouble him in the least; +the danger was the thing he thought of. His head bubbled with details +and scenic arrangements, rapidly falling into order as he thought. His +mind was masterly in its grasp of salient points, in its suggestions of +detail. Naturally, as he plotted and studied his part, this orderly +marshalling of ideas induced a sense of freedom from danger. With a +clearer view of incident came a confusion of outline. + +He had just got to Trafalgar Square when he started to feel a hand +placed on his shoulder, and looking round saw Father Gray and his +victim. In the first shock of surprise he reeled as if struck, and a +flash of deadly fear passed over his face, but so instantaneously that +it would have been almost impossible for a stranger to have seen it. +Though he had recovered this first feeling of terror in a moment, hard +as he was, he could never have prevented it. It was the inevitable +cowardice of evil, the most horrid kind of fear. Then almost immediately +came a great flood of exaltation dominating all other sensation. + +"This _is_ jolly," said Father Gray, "we were just coming to see you. +This is my friend, Lord Frederick Calvert. How are you getting on? Well! +Oh, I'm so glad. You did excellent service for us in the _Church +Chimes_; that Protestant paper was dreadfully venomous. Now, what do you +say to the hotel and lunch?" + +"I should like it of all things. Where are you staying?" + +"At the Charing Cross, just over the road." + +"Right you are. If you will go on I will join you in a moment; I just +want to go to the post." + +He went to the office at the corner, and sent off a wire to Sturtevant, +not being able to resist elevenpence-halfpennyworth of epigram. + + "Everything comes to him who can't wait. Keep away from my rooms, + have met our worthy friends.--G." + +The lunch party was bright and enjoyable. Lord Frederick did not talk +much, but Gobion did, and the clergyman treated him most affectionately, +paying the greatest attention to his remarks. The young fellow, who was +aching to see a little life, and taste some of the joys hitherto +forbidden, looked on Gobion as a being from another world, charmed and +fascinated by his manner and conversation. He hoped that perhaps he +might be able to make him the excuse for a little more freedom. + +At the end of the meal a waiter came up with a telegram in his hand, +"Rrreverrend Grray, sir?" he said. The clergyman read the flimsy pink +paper, his face growing very serious as he did so. + +"My dear Lord Frederick," he said, "I am so very sorry. My great friend +Stanley, of the C.B.S., is dying up in Scotland and asking for me. I +must leave you for a day or two, I fear. Do you mind? Gobion, perhaps, +would not mind keeping you company a little." + +Both men showed the deepest sympathy, saying that they could manage very +well, while both were inwardly rejoicing. There were the elements of +farce in the situation. + +They got him off late in the afternoon. "God proposes, and man is +disposed of," said Gobion as the train left the station. Lord Frederick +laughed. "And now, my dear sir," he said, "I place myself entirely in +your hands. To speak quite frankly, I've never had such a chance of a +rag before, and I want to make the most of it." + +"I too should like a rag," said Gobion. "We _will_ rag, and take no +thought for the morrow beyond staying up to welcome its arrival. We'd +better go and dress first; I'll call at the hotel when I'm ready." + +When he had put the other down at Charing Cross he went on in the +hansom to the "Temple," bursting in on Sturtevant, whom he found with +the female conspirator sitting on his knee. "Arrange the coup for +to-morrow evening at nine," he said; "I'm off now to take him round the +halls." + +He rushed out again and dressed as quickly as he could, putting two or +three sovereigns in his pocket for emergencies, though he intended his +friend should pay all expenses. + +They went at first to The Princes, and had, as Gobion told Sturtevant +next morning, "a dinner regardless, my dear boy, simply regardless. +Never done so well before." Lord Frederick insisted on paying, +explaining that as he had asked Gobion to accompany him, all the +expenses would be his. + +They got on very well together. The nobleman was ingenuous and +gentlemanly, and Gobion, who appreciated these things to the full, +almost felt compunction at what he proposed to do. They afterwards went +to the Alhambra, taking a box, and Gobion pointed out various people as +celebrities in literature and art, making himself a charming companion +by his clever commentaries on the crowd. + +Being extremely young and innocent, Lord Frederick was of course a +confirmed cynic, and he enjoyed the malice of Gobion's remarks, +especially as he was always unmercifully snubbed at home when he tried +to be caustic. + +On this particular evening it happened that no one of any note was in +the place except Moro de Minter, the comic journalist, but, nothing +daunted, Gobion pointed out various obvious bank clerks and actors +"resting" as the leading lights of London journalism. The poor boy +believed it all; he was very ingenuous; indeed, he laughed twice, once +almost loudly, at one of Little Hich's songs! + +They parted late, Lord Frederick a little tipsy, swearing eternal +friendship, and Gobion promised to take him to a well-known night club +in Soho the following evening. + +Progress was reported to Sturtevant next morning over breakfast, and he +gave Gobion some valuable hints as to detail. As the evening drew on +both of them got rather nervous and excited--the coup was so big, and +the chances of failure so many. + +They discussed the final arrangements with an affected disregard for +danger, sprinkling cheap cynicism as a sort of intellectual pepper to +disguise the too strong taste of the undertaking. + +"Pan is dead," said Sturtevant, filling up the inevitable tumbler. "Long +live Pannikin! And now to play your part; the curtain is going up and +the critics are in the stalls. Go out and prosper." + +They dined this time at the Trocadero, Gobion thinking that the music +would help in producing the necessary high spirits in Calvert, and at +the close of the meal he proposed an adjournment to his rooms, as it was +yet too early for the night club. When they mounted the stairs a light +showed from under the door. "Hallo," said Gobion, "there's someone +here"; and meeting Mrs. Daily on the landing, she said Mrs. Holmes was +waiting to see him. + +"You're in luck," he said to his friend; "she's a charming little +woman--acts in burlesques, you know." + +Mrs. Holmes rose to meet them. With a keen sense of the comic side of +the situation, Gobion noticed that Sturtevant had been there, his gloves +were left on the table. The room was evidently arranged by a master +mind. An inviting lounge shaded by a screen was placed by the red glow +of the fire, the lights were carefully shaded so as not to shine too +fully on the artificial beauties of the lady's face. The cushions and +chairs exhaled an odour of patchouli (Sturtevant had been round with a +spray-diffuser half an hour before), and _Nana_ lay open on the table at +the page where Georges is drying by the kitchen fire. + +Indeed, so far had the thing been carried out, Gobion could not help +thinking that something was wrong. No. 999, Queer Street was a little +too visible, but the champagne had exhilarated Calvert, and he noticed +nothing, and became on confidential terms with "Mrs. Holmes" in no time. + +Absinthe was produced, the sickly smell irritating Gobion, who was +longing to get out of the hot rooms and the _poudre d'amour_ atmosphere. + + +At last the telegram came. He said, "Awf'ly sorry, old man, but I must +go out for half an hour; they want me to do a leaderette for to-morrow's +_Happy Despatch_ on the 'spinning-house' row. I'll be back very +shortly." + +He went out in a hurry to the Temple, where he found Sturtevant in +evening dress, white and haggard, walking up and down the room. + + * * * * * + +They got the cheque, and Sturtevant cashed it before lunch next morning, +and at one o'clock they met in Gobion's rooms to divide the spoil. Over +the meal--a dainty repast, ordered to celebrate their achievement--they +were in the highest spirits. To-morrow they resolved that they would go +to Cannes, or perhaps further still. + +"We might do Madeira," said Sturtevant. "Think of the heat, the +quivering air, the hum of the insects, ah-h!" He took a deep +anticipatory breath, and as he did so the door opened and an elderly +gentleman came in. + +"I don't think I have the pleasure," said Gobion, rising from his chair. + +"My name is Ringwood," said the stranger quietly. Gobion flinched as if +he had been struck in the face. There was a strained, tense silence, +only broken by the gurgling of the champagne in Sturtevant's glass as he +raised it to his lips. Then he sneered, "Ah!" his lips curling away from +his teeth. + +Lord Ringwood struggled desperately to control himself. "Good God! what +a damned couple of rascals you are!" he cried. + +Gobion laughed a little sickly, pitiable laugh. "Fine day," he said. + +The peer got up. "I see now what to do," he said. "I was a fool to come +here. I'll have you both in gaol this afternoon." + +When he had gone, and they had heard the front door bang, Gobion jumped +up and packed a portmanteau. + +"Go back to the Temple," he said; "no one knows your address. I'm going +to get rooms somewhere in Pimlico--till we can get further away. I'll +come to the Temple to-night." + +He got into a cab and drove away. As he turned into the Embankment a +piano-organ burst out with "The Dandy Coloured Coon," and the tune +throbbed in his brain, keeping time to the monotonous beat of the +horse's feet on the macadam. + + + + + CHAPTER VII. + + _THE CONSOLATIONS OF MRS. EBBAGE; WITH SOME ACCOUNT OF THE REV. PETER + BELPER_. + + +In the Vauxhall Bridge Road Gobion found a room in a lodging-house kept +by a Mrs. Ebbage. In the evening of the same day he went to the Temple, +but found Sturtevant's door shut, and he received no answer to his +knocks. As he was turning away he saw that something was written on a +piece of paper pinned to the door. + + "To Y. G.,--Note for you at the 'Grecian' bar. + + "M. S." + +He went to the bar and got the letter, which ran:-- + + "MIDDLE TEMPLE. + + "DEAR GOBION,--I have gone to the southern heat as we proposed, + and shall soon be sailing over the siren-haunted Mediterranean. I + enclose a ten-pound note in the hope that a period of enforced + sobriety may tend to a worthier life for you. + + "Even a wise man is sometimes happy, and I should recommend + philosophy to you at this present juncture. As a matter of fact, + you may be quite sure that Ringwood won't make any move; but + still, as I intend, as you know, to practise at the bar, it may be + as well to go away for a time. + + "If I were you I should stick to journalism; it will pay for bread + and butter. You might even write on subjects that you know + something about! + + "With your appreciation of 'master-strokes' you cannot but admire + this my last move. To you, I am sure, the illustrious will now + become the august. + + "MORDAUNT STURTEVANT." + +"Yes," muttered Gobion, "he is cleverer than I am--ten pounds, out of a +thousand! Damn the scoundrel!" He swore under his breath for a minute or +two, but his quick wit soon grasped the humour of the situation. Though +it told against him, the joke was too good to be lost, and he could not +help a somewhat bitter laugh. + +He went to bed when he got back, and, having nothing particular to do, +lay far into the morning, listening lazily to the sounds of the house. +He heard Mrs. Ebbage shouting angrily at her children, while in the +distance a tinkling piano spun out "Belle Mahone," and every half-hour +or so someone on the other side of the wall knocked his pipe out against +the mantelpiece. + +A smell of steak and onions floated into the room. + +He looked round. It was what is known as a "bed-sitter" on the +ground-floor at the end of the main passage. He got up and looked out of +the window, making the discovery that the landlady and her family lived +below him. Opposite the window, some four yards away, was the straight +wall of the next house, while below he looked down into a deep yard into +which the back door opened. It was entirely enclosed by the two houses, +forming a sort of pit or well. Some children were playing in the dirt, +while just below his window a rope was fastened, with some socks and a +flannel shirt drying on it. + +His room was furnished with the bed, a jug and basin standing on an old +sugar-box painted green, an old armchair, a table, a wooden chair, and a +mirror over the fire, in which a crack down the middle was repaired by a +strip of paper gilded to match the frame. The walls were decorated with +a black japanned pipe-rack studded with pink and green stars, a +medallion of the Queen stamped in bronze cardboard, and a photograph of +the new Scotland Yard framed in shiny yellow wood. + +For this he was to pay five-and-sixpence a week. Strangely enough the +utter sordidness of the place did not strike a jarring note. He felt +that he had dropped out of everything, that from henceforth he belonged +to this world of Mrs. Ebbage, this Vauxhall-Bridge-Road world. After +another lazy half-hour he got up and dressed, calling for the landlady +when he was ready. The woman came in, carrying a tray with his +breakfast. She was dirty and unkempt. Her face, where it was not black, +was yellow, and stray wisps of grizzled hair blew round it--a face lined +and shrewd. + +"Thort you'd like an 'errin'," she said. "Ebbage 'ad one before 'e went +out. 'E's a pliceman, is Ebbage; 'as 'is beat down Kennington way." + +"Oh, thanks very much; very nice," said Gobion, amused to see her making +the bed and lighting the fire while he ate. + +"Better 'ave the window open," she said. "Gets a bit smelly in the +mornin', don't it?" She opened the window, breaking off her conversation +to shout at one of the children in the yard. "Leave off playin' with Mr. +Belper's socks, little nosey wretch yer; always nosin' about, little +devil." + +"Ah, you don't know what kids are, you don't. Ebbage gets cussing at +them sometimes. I sez to 'im, 'Touch the 'arp lightly, my deah! You want +yer ugly 'edd tappin',' I sez. It makes 'im fairly med. 'Cummere,' I +sez, 'call _your_self a man? Cummere if you want to knock anyone about. +I could make a better yuman man than you, art of a lump o' coal.' Ah, 'e +isn't what 'Olmes was, my first man. 'E _was_ a man--big, fat, fleshy +devil, makin' 'is three quid a week regular. 'E was always good to me; +'e was fond of women. I've 'eard 'im say as a man ort to ave as many +women as 'e could keep." + +Gobion soon got used to the woman, and even began to like her. She was +kind to him in her way, saying she'd "had many a toff down on his luck +with her," and she "noo the brand." He made friends with the husband--a +big, black-haired man, stolid and obscene in his conversation, and they +used to go to the public-house at the corner for a "drop of Scotch." Mr. +Ebbage always called it "a drop," though it would have been better for +him if he had never exceeded the twopennorth that did duty for the +aforesaid generic name. + +After a fortnight Gobion settled down to a dull cheerless time, sordid +and dreadful; and it was but rarely that a pain-flash disturbed his +torpor. He used to play the old cracked piano in the evenings to the +family. Mrs. Ebbage's nieces--giggling shop girls--would come in from +College Street, and he would sit, with no tie and a dirty shirt, making +vulgar love to "Trot" and "Fanny," while Ebbage read the football +_Star_, and his wife cooked the sausages for supper. Sometimes in the +long dull afternoons Lucy Ebbage, a girl of sixteen, used to come into +his room and sit on his knee. He took a diseased pleasure in lowering +himself to their level. + +He was a man with a keen eye for beauty, a deep appreciation of the +poetry of things, and yet for a week or two, with a strange morbid +insensibility, he revelled in the manners of the vulgarest class in +London. "Human nature is much of a muchness," he said to himself. "Why +give myself airs? I should make Lucy a capital husband; we could keep a +fried-fish shop and be happy." + +This went on for three weeks; then one evening--somewhat of the +suddenest--came the reaction. + +He was sitting alone on the one comfortable chair drawn up close to the +fire. The dancing flames lit up the unmade bed, the remains of a chop, a +heap of clothes scattered over a chair, and a pair of muddy boots drying +in the fender. + +It was again the after-dinner hour--an hour with the monopoly of some +effects. He sat lazily smoking a pipe, half dozing, when he became +conscious of a banjo playing a comic song: "And her golden hair was +hanging down her back." Gradually the air took greater hold of him. The +distant twanging seemed fraught with an undercurrent of sadness, a +sub-tone of regret. + +Gradually the sordid message dispelled lassitude, and his vivid mind +began to preen itself, waking from its long sleep. First passed away +with the swing of the first line the dull December London. His mind put +on wings, flying through confused memories to the first night of term, +the little Oxford theatre crammed with men--all the old set, Fleming, +Taylor, Robertson, Raymond, Young, "Weggie" Dibb, Scott, even Condamine. +How they had applauded and joined in the choruses! how they had cheered +the fat principal boy, how bright and _young_ it was!... Then a moment's +hush, and the sharp-strung chords, when the orchestra dashed madly into +the song, "Oh, Flo, 'twas _very_ wrong, you know!" How all the men had +roared at the girl's conscious wink. From the first he had posed, but in +those early terms he had been innocent of great wrong ... and now?... +The twang stopped with a little penultimate flourish before the final +chord. The trams in the road rattled past. Mrs. Ebbage shouted in the +kitchen, opining that her spouse must be "off 'is blooming onion"; and +outside in the passage Trot and Lucy giggled, high in the palate, hoping +he would hear and ask them to come in.... He shook violently in his +chair. To his excited imagination it seemed as if strange lights passed +before him; he heard strange sounds. He shook, and it seemed as if the +scales fell from his eyes, letting all the horror of his life flash into +his ken. There was a sense of the finality of things; he saw dimly a +far-off purpose. + +It was the _staleness_, the torture of sin, not a sorrowful sense of +evil, that settled round him like a cloud. He had fed his appetites too +heavily, and a total apoplexy of mind and soul had ensued. + +Then came a knock at the door, and a grotesque figure entered--a large, +gross old man, with heavy pouches under the eyes, with unsteady +dribbling lips, dressed in a long parti-coloured dressing-gown. + +He said he lived on the other side of the passage, "and perhaps his +young friend would come in and smoke a pipe with him." They went into a +room much the same as Gobion's. A jug of steaming water stood on the +table by a bottle of gin. + +"My name is Belper," said the old gentleman, "the Reverend Peter Belper, +though I no longer have a cure of souls. Will you have some Old Tom? I +never work, but it makes me very thirsty." + +Gobion drank; he was not in a state of mind to be surprised at anything. +This leering old satyr seemed quite natural and in proper sequence. + +"I won't ask you what you've done," he said to Gobion. "A gentleman +doesn't live here for no reason." He spoke with a wagging of his heavy +jaw, with a hoarse bleat, but an accent in which still lingered a trace +of culture. + +"No," said Gobion; "I suppose we're a shady lot in this hole." + +"We are, we are; I myself am not what I was. Good heavens! I was once a +vicar! I am now a moral object-lesson. I used to live by sermonizing, +now I sermonize by living. A university man, may I ask?" + +"Yes--Oxford." + +"Really, there are then two of us. Mrs. Ebbage ought to congratulate +herself." + +"Have you been with her long?" + +"Six years now. I have a moderate incompetence left; enough to be +constantly drunk on." + +"You find it really does deaden thought?" + +"My dear sir, if it wasn't for gin I should long since have been in +another hell!" + +A shrill laugh floated up from the kitchen. + +"I call her 'laughing water,'" said Mr. Belper. + +"You are poetic." + +"Yes, my father was Belper the minor poet. I am the least poetic of his +works." + +He leered at the fire, shaking with drink--a shameless, dirty old man. +"I was a pretty fellow in my time," he said, licking the chops of +remotest memory. "I had a conscience, and wrote harvest festival hymns +with it." + +Gobion filled his glass. "What do you do with yourself all day?" + +"Drink and sleep, sleep and drink." + +"Cheerful!" + +"Yes, very; what else can I do? My mind is gone; if I think it's only +blurred pain. I used to try and philosophise, but I can't think now. I +don't believe in the nonsense people talk about the comforting powers of +philosophy." + +"Nor I. Philosophy seems to me to be an attempt to eat one's own soul, +and indigestion generally results." + +The old man filled his pipe anew, his face half in light half in shadow, +the gross imprint of vice showing more sharply for the contrast, and +suggesting still worse possibilities. Bad as it was, it had the +prepotency of lower depths. + +They often sat together thus, spending the long-drawn evenings over the +gin-bottle, japing at society. Mr. Belper was ribald and cynical. +Nothing could shock either of them; their only prejudice was to persuade +themselves that they had none. + +It was a dark, dull time, too sordid for the actors to accrue any +excitement at its lurid aspects. Night after night they sat till they +were too befuddled to talk, each in turn providing the necessary amount +of gin for the night's debauch. Belper punctuated the weary days by long +sleeps, and Gobion by caressing Lucy Ebbage. + +His health began to go slowly, and the torture of insomnia was added to +his life. + +One evening Mrs. Ebbage came into his room incoherently reminiscent, and +sitting on the bed, rambled of the past, giving Gobion a strange glimpse +of the habits of her class. + +She told of her youth in a Westminster slum, of her mother who had been +kicked to death in a low public-house on the evening of the Derby. "'Er +face was like a bit of liver after they'd done with 'er, and when the +p'lice came in she was as dead as meat. I often think ovver." + +She went on to talk of her daughter by her first marriage, who had died +at seventeen, her coarse voice trembling as she told how clever she had +been at crochet work, and what a small foot she had. She showed Gobion a +tiny white shoe the girl had worn. It was piteous to hear her--this +scraggy, hard woman--with tears in her eyes, talking of her dead +darling. + +Then she said, "My 'ands are all mucky, and I've gone and soiled the +shoe. Pore 'Arriet, it don't matter to 'er now." + +She wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron, and with a change of +manner--a somewhat futile arrogation of gaiety--"We're goin' to 'ave a +bit of supper. Ebbage said as 'e could swallow a Welsh rarebit and a +drop of something 'ot; come down and 'ave a bit." + +"Yes," said Gobion slowly, "let us eat, drink, and be merry, for +to-morrow----" + +Mr. Belper came in and made coarse jokes, to Mr. Ebbage's huge delight. +Gobion in his loneliness sat and became one of them, eating with his +knife to avoid the appearance of eccentricity. + +About eleven o'clock he went out with a jug to get some beer. The +streets were heavy with fog, but he had not far to go, as the +public-house he frequented was just round the corner. He chatted with +the barmaid while she was drawing the beer, noticing with a smile the +notice painted on the wall: + + "WHERE ELSE CAN YOU GET + + Such fine MELLOW 4d. RUM! + Such pure OLD 6d. WHISKEY! + Such luscious 4-1/2d. GIN! + Such MATCHLESS 6d. BRANDY!" + +As he was going back a man in evening dress knocked against him. + +"I beg pardon," he said. "I don't see--good God! Gobion!" + +It was Scott. + +Gobion took him into his room, and lit the little alabaster lamp, rich +in gaudy flower work. The door opened, and the Reverend Peter Belper +came in. The light shone on him, and he looked more Silenus-like than +ever. "Beg pardon," he said, "thought you were alone." Gobion seized the +momentary diversion of his coming to put on a tie and push his dirty +cuffs under the sleeves of his coat. + +"Oh! my dear old man," said Scott, looking round the room, "have you +come to this? Why didn't you tell me?" + +He put his arm on his shoulder, and Gobion drew nearer, shaking with +emotion. + +"I've been always thinking of you," said Scott. "It's been so lonely +without you--so dull and lonely--we all miss you so. They said at Oxford +that you'd been mixed up in some beastly newspaper scandal, but I knew +of course that you'd rather die than do anything like that. I've been +horribly afraid for you. You see, I couldn't find out where you'd got to +or anything. You look terribly ill, old man; you must come out of this +hole. Come away with me to-morrow, and when you're better you can make a +new start." + +"It's no use," said Gobion, "I'm finished--mind and body." + +"Rot, old man! you're only rather pippy. Don't you know you've _always_ +got me? Don't you remember how once for a joke in those Ship Street +rooms you made me put my hands between yours and swear to be your man? +Well, it wasn't a joke--to me. Don't you know how we all love you? Fancy +your being here, you who used to lead us all. Damn it all, what gaudy +nonsense I'm talking!" + +His rather commonplace face shone strangely. He seemed to change the +mean aspect of the room, to annihilate its sordidness. + +Late at night Scott went back to his hotel, promising to be round first +thing in the morning to take Gobion away. They parted at the door with a +long hand-grip, and never met again in this world. + +When he had gone Gobion went back to his room and fell like a log on to +the floor, lying there motionless till the grey light crept into the +court. + +Then he got up and swiftly packed a small bag, his face white and drawn. + +He went into the next room. The lamp was still burning, and old Mr. +Belper lay in a drunken sleep on the bed. His mouth was open, and he +breathed heavily. + +Gobion woke him. "I've come to say good-bye," he said. + +"What! has it come to that?" + +"Yes." + +The old man stared heavily. "Well, good-bye," he said. "I shan't be very +long either. I'm glad we've met. I, ahem, I--er"--he coughed--"I +congratulate you." He passed his dirty hand over his eyes. "Yes, +I--er--congratulate you. I wish--I'll see you out." + +He came to the front door. They shook hands. "Good-bye," he said, +"good-bye, dear boy." + +He stood on the steps, a fat, grotesque figure, and watched Gobion's +slim form disappear in the fog--a dirty, shameless old man. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII. + + _THE FINAL POSE._ + + +He felt that the time had come at last. What in his misery he had +thought vaguely possible now loomed close before. + +With the resolve to make an end of it all, to have done with pain, to +cheat the inevitable, came a flood of relief. The torture of his brain +was swept away as if it had not been, and its receding tide left only a +shallow residuum of false sentiment. + +The poor fool busied himself with details and accessories. Since he had +come to the point, he resolved that he would pose to the last. He began +to play his old trick of exciting a diseased duality of consciousness. + +As he walked eastwards he was composing his farewell letters, he was +picturing to himself the sorrow of his friends. They would talk of him +wonderingly, as a brilliant life promising great things, gone with its +work undone. They would recall his sweetness, the glow of his bright +youth ... the tears came into his eyes at the idea, it was so pathetic a +picture. + +His thoughts had run so long in the same groove, that though he felt +dimly that there ought to be other and deeper feelings within him, he +was unable to evoke them. He was conscious that this dainty picturing +was utterly false; yet, try as he would, he could not stop it. Whether +it was the last flicker of intense vanity, or merely that his mind was +weakened by debauchery, it is impossible to say; but when a man plays +unhealthy tricks with his mind, and is for ever feeling his spiritual +muscles, the habit holds him fast as in a vice. His last hours possess a +strange psychological interest. + +He walked eastwards mechanically, but stopped when he had turned into +Houndsditch, and the roar of the early traffic in Bishopsgate sounded +less loudly. + +From a card hanging in a pawnbroker's window he saw a bedroom was to +let, and after paying the rent in advance, he was allowed to take +possession. He lit the oil-stove that did duty for a fire, and lay down, +falling into a heavy, dreamless sleep. + +When he woke it was quite dark, and after washing his hands he went to a +low eating-house for a last meal. The _menu_ was pasted on the window in +strips, while a cabbage-laden steam floated out of the half-open door. +The room was long and low of ceiling, each table standing in a separate +partition. A large woman, dressed in a scarlet silk blouse, walked up +and down the centre gangway, taking the orders, which she shouted out in +a hoarse voice to the open kitchen at the far end. "Pudding and peas!" +"Roast, Yorkshire, and baked!" + +The table at which Gobion sat was covered with oil-cloth, and as he +moved a saucer full of salt out of the way of his elbow, a many-legged +insect ran over it to a crack in the wall. + +The woman brought him the food, not giving him a knife and fork till he +had paid for what he had ordered. He noticed her hands were red and +misshapen, with long, black nails. + +He ate ravenously. Over the low partition he could see a Jew jerking +some rich, steaming mess into his mouth with a curious twist of the +wrist, and every now and again wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his +coat. These details fascinated him. + +When he had done, he asked for some paper, and with the roar of +Whitechapel surging outside he began to write to Scott. + + "MY DEAR, DEAR OLD MAN, + + Forgive me for what I am going to do. Life seems to me----" + +After writing a sentence or two he tore it up, as he found that he could +not produce what he wanted. Time after time he tried, and only succeeded +in being commonplace to the last degree. All his ideas of a tender +farewell, a beautiful poetic letter, seemed impossible of realization; +instead, he produced effusions which looked as if they might have been +copied from the _Family Herald_. + +At last he wrote simply "Good-bye," adding his new address. He tried to +think of someone else to write to, but could not. His father he hated +and feared; there was no thrill in a letter to him. It all seemed very +flat and commonplace. These last few hours were not at all as he had +pictured to himself. + +Then he went out into the Whitechapel High Street. The costermongers' +stalls, lit with flaring naphtha lamps, made the street nearly as bright +as in the day-time. The pavement was greasy to walk on, and it was +thronged by a vast crowd walking slowly up and down. The fog was +settling over the houses, and the place smelt like a stale sponge. + +He wandered slowly down towards the church, picking his way among the +mob. + +Coarse Jewish women with false hair shouted to one another. Girls with +high cheek-bones, smeared with red and white, caught hold of his arm, +whispering evil suggestions to him, and cursing him for a fool when he +turned away. There was a lurid glow in the air. + +He stopped outside a stationer's window, gazing idly at the specimens +of invitation cards in the window. + + "_Mr. and Mrs. Levenstein + Request the pleasure of your company + At the occasion of their son's circumcision._" + +In the brilliant light he saw the gutters littered with decayed +vegetables, bones, and rags. Two old women stood at a corner of the +Commercial Road. He heard one of them say, "Yes, it was still-born, so +she _said_; but I 'eard it squeak before Annie come out of the room." He +passed on. A piano-organ, with a cage of bedraggled birds on the top, +struck up, the handle being turned by a boy, while his father went among +the crowd showing a smooth white stump where his hand should have been. + +The door of the Free Library stood open. He went in. The room was +crowded with men standing about reading the evening papers. He walked up +and down through the rows of stands, as if looking for someone, after a +while coming out again into the street. A sailor knocked against him, +and swore at him for a "bleeding fool." + +He was passing a pillar-box, when he remembered his letter to Scott, and +he posted it, hearing the hollow echo of its fall with the sense of a +curious subjective disturbance in the air around. He felt something was +by him in the noisy street, something waiting by him for the end. He +looked hastily over his shoulder, and then laughed grimly. + +After a time, when he had been among the crowd for nearly two hours, +some impulse seemed to draw him away, and he went back towards +Houndsditch. Before turning down the long narrow street, he went into +the "Three Nuns," the big hotel at the corner, and spent his last +shilling in three glasses of brandy. + +As he closed the door of his lodgings, the noise of the streets sank +suddenly into a distant hum, through which he could distinguish the +far-off tinklings of the barrel-organ, which had moved higher up the +street. When he got to his room he busied himself in making it clean and +tidy, clearing up the hearth, putting his clothes neatly away into his +bag. + +Then he took a little bottle out of his pocket marked "Chloroform." +Over the head of the bed he fixed up a sort of rack with two hatpins and +some string, so that the bottle could swing exactly over his pillow. +Then he pricked a hole in the cork in such a manner that if the phial +was turned upside-down, every few minutes a drop of liquid would ooze +through. + + * * * * * + +He lit a cigarette and sat down to think. He was not quite sober, but he +felt a dull conviction that things were never more unsatisfactory. He +felt no sadness, no pathos, stealing over him. + +With a great effort he struggled to realize things, getting up and +walking round the room, talking thickly to himself. "Here I am, young, +clever, of a good family, a man who might have been good or even great; +am I going to die like a rat in a hole? Oh, God!" He said it with all +the force and yearning he could put into his voice, trying to force a +note of pain, but the result was most ordinary. He looked at his face in +a little strip of looking-glass above the fireplace. He saw nothing but +the imprint of impurity and sin. + +Then he lay back on the bed, and thought that he roared with laughter. +The situation seemed irresistibly comic. He only chuckled feebly, but to +him it seemed as if he were shrieking in an ecstasy of mirth. + +Suddenly he got up and fell on his knees, praying aloud, "Oh, God, help +me! God forgive me!" All the time that he knelt and tried to pour out an +impassioned prayer for forgiveness he knew that it was only an attempt +to bring some poetry, some pathos, into his last moments. Again he got +up and laughed wildly. His face grew ashen grey and horribly drawn in +his attempts to deceive himself, to pose once more. + +"Is there nothing, NOTHING? Good God!... why can't I feel? Why? why? Ah! +ahh!" He tore at the bed-quilt wildly, snarling like a beast. + + * * * * * + +In the middle of his paroxysm he stopped suddenly and stiffened. Once +more the weird horror of another presence in the room came over him. He +whimpered like a dog, shrinking into a corner, with staring eyes, not +knowing what he did, muttering "Mother--mother!" Then with a complete +change of tone and manner, he said, "A nonentity with most seductive +hair." + +He took the little bottle from the table, and hung it mouth downwards in +the sling. + +He took off his coat and waistcoat, mechanically winding up his watch +and placing it on the mantel. + +"This is not at all what I had hoped. It is _most_ unsatisfactory, quite +commonplace, in fact," he said as he lay down on the bed. + +He felt a little splash on his cheek, and moved his face out of the +direct course of the liquid, which now began to fall more rapidly. + + + + + CHAPTER IX. + + _TWENTY YEARS AFTER. AN EPILOGUE IN TWO PICTURES._ + + THE FIRST PICTURE. + + _The Art of Religion._ + + +The church was very full. It was the vigil of All Saints, and Father +Scott was to preach. + +Far away, the culminating point of the long vista of shadowy arches, +stood the High Altar, blazing with lights. The choir had just taken +their stalls, and every head was bent low. + +An orchestra was reinforcing the organ, and the long silver trumpets, +loved of old Purcell, shouted jubilantly, echoing away down the dim +clerestory. + +Father Scott felt a strange thrill, an uplifting of the heart, at the +melody. He stood up in his stall with the rest, a man whose face still +showed a trend to the commonplace, but sweetened, almost refined away by +something else. + +The little sisters of St. Cecily, sweet souls with whom he worked, said +among themselves that he had had a dear friend once whom he had loved, +and for whom he still mourned and prayed, and that it was this that made +him such an eminently lovable man. + +Indeed, Sister Eliza had even read a novel he had written in his early +days, a mystic romance of a glorious youth who had never come to prime. + +The music of the stately anthem swelled up in a burst of praise, the +trumpets singing high over all with keen vibratory notes that told of an +inner mystery to ears initiate. Then, when Father Gray, an old priest +whose days were nearly done, read the lesson, Scott leant back with +crossed hands, thinking of old times, of his youth. It seemed to him on +this great night of the Church that other and less earthly forms and +voices thronged the building. In the Creed, the words "communion of +saints" touched him strangely, as they always did; but to-night they +came home to him with a deeper meaning. + +"God is so good," he thought simply. "Surely He has pardoned him for +that one sin. He was so pure and beautiful--very pleasant hast thou been +to me." His thoughts wandered disconnectedly, recalling sentences that +had struck him, old scenes and scraps of verse. The smell of the incense +brought back Cowley or the Sunday evening services at St. Barnabas. He +rejoiced in his heart at the stateliness and circumstance of worship +around him, and he recalled some old articles in the _Church Chimes_, +defending eloquently the "true ritual of holy Church." He had thought +them so good, he remembered, such a dignified answer to the other side. + +The prayers began, each with its deep harmonized "Amen," which seemed to +him in his excited mind long-drawn gasps of thankfulness and worship. He +bent his head low in his hands, and prayed humbly for the Church's +welfare, and then, with an uplifting of his heart and a great +passionate yearning, for his dead friend. He felt very near to him on +this feast of the departed. + +The time came for him to speak to the long rows of faces. He mounted to +the high pulpit in the sweep of the chancel arch, and looked down on the +congregation. + +He began quietly enough, but gathered power and sonance as his feelings +swayed him, drawing for them a picture, an ideal, to which they might +all attain, telling them of the sweetness that comes with goodness. He +thought of the friend of his youth, and drew an exalted picture of him, +while the people sat breathless at the beauty of his words. + +Then he said in a hushed voice how he had thought, and liked to think, +that round them to-night were the dear ones who had died, that they were +watching over them and praying with them that holy night. + +Everyone felt the spell of the hour and the voice of the priest, it was +most unearthly, dramatic, and effective. Sister Eliza wiped her eyes and +thought of the novel, and only poor old Father Gray, worthy man, was +fast asleep in the chancel, tired by the long ceremonial day. + +Then came the great procession round the church, with its acolytes and +crosses, Father Scott walking last in flowered cope. They sang, "For all +the saints who from their labours rest," waking a responsive echo in +every heart. + +Last, and most impressive of all, the long spell of silent prayer, +broken at last by the crashing music, and the shuffling feet of the +congregation as they left the building. Sister Eliza, as she went out +into the cutting night wind, could not help thinking of the novel. It +was not a bad novel, but this is the true account. + + + THE SECOND PICTURE. + + _A dinner in honour of the law._ + + +"Well, my dear, and who have you got?" said the duchess. + +"First of all there's Mr. Mordaunt Sturtevant, the new Q.C., _quite_ a +nice person." + +"He is," said the duchess, "I've met him. Such eyes! Eliza Facinorious +said that he made her 'feel quite funny when he looked at her.' You +know the sort of person--makes you feel b-r-r-r-r-r! like that." + +"I know," said the hostess. "Then Marjorie Burness is coming--such a +dear! knows all the latest stories about everyone." + +"I don't think I've met her," said the duchess, "is she quite?" + +"Not exactly; she was a Miss Lovibond--Lovering--some name like that. +Parson's daughter, Kensington people, dontcherknow; but so amusin'--fat, +too, she is." + +"Oh!" said the duchess. + +"Then there's a Mr. Sanderson Tom asked. He keeps a school board, or +wants the poor to live noble lives in Hackney--somethin' of that sort. +Eliza Facinorious and the Baron, Lady Darwin Swift, Mr. Justice Coll, +Bradley Bere, the new writin' boy, Lord Saul Horridge, and of course the +girls. That's all, I think." + +"Oh!" said the duchess again. + +She was rather a damaged duchess, and very impertinent, but Mrs. +Chitters was exceedingly glad to get her. She really _was_ a duchess, +which, if a woman has no brains, money, or comeliness, is the best +thing she can be. She was staying for a week with Colonel Chitters and +his wife. + +The dinner was for the joy of Mr. Mordaunt Sturtevant, who had just +taken silk. The most eminent member of the criminal bar, he would have +been Queen's Counsel long ago if it had not been for some vague rumours +of his early life. + +A footman opened the door, the duchess her eye-glasses, and Mrs. +Chitters the conversation. Mr. Bradley Bere was announced, a youth +apparently of seventeen, but of a great name; the rich uncleanness of +his life almost rivalling his stories, and both being given undue +prominence by his friends on the weekly press. Then came Lord Saul +Horridge, a tall melancholy man, whose life was crushed by an energetic +mother, whose forte was teetotalism, and whose weakness was omniscience. + +Mr. and Mrs. Robert Burness came in, were effusively greeted by the +hostess, and passed on to amuse the duchess. Mrs. Burness, _née_ +Marjorie Lovering, had grown too stout for flirtation, and feeling the +want of a _métier_, had turned her thoughts to scandal, and achieved a +great success. Her husband, a clerk in the War Office, used to say that +his wife had a higher regard for truth than anyone he knew--she used it +so economically. + +Mordaunt Sturtevant and Mr. Justice Coll came in arm in arm, and soon +after they went down to dinner. + +Sturtevant had grown two small whiskers, and his keen eyes, shaded by +bushy brows, made the duchess want to say "B-r-r-r-r-r!" several times +during the evening. + +The Baroness Facinorious, an ample and various lady, was taken down by +Mr. Sanderson, the education person from Hackney, and they discussed the +latest thing in Chelsea churches. + +Bradley Bere told Miss Chitters that poetry was the pursuit of the +unattainable by the unbearable, hoping she would repeat it as having +come from him. + +Mr. Justice Coll alone was silent, his whole mind, no large part of +him, being given up to the business in hand. + +When the gentlemen came up to the drawing-room Sturtevant sat down by +Mrs. Burness, and they discussed their host and hostess, both of them +telling Mrs. Chitters what the other had said later on in the evening. + +When they got tired of scandal Mrs. Burness mentioned that her son had +just gone up to Oxford. "To Exeter, you know. Robert says it's an +excellent college. We went up for the 'Torgids,' I think they call +them--boatin' races, you know--and we had lunch in Bernard's rooms. +_Such_ nice rooms, all panelled in oak, and only next door to the Hall, +which must be _so_ convenient in wet weather, don't you think?" + +"Have they a high-barred window in the corner looking out into B. N. C. +Lane?" said Sturtevant. + +"Yes! do you know them?" + +"I think so. I believe I used to know a man who had them years ago. He's +dead now." + +"Oh, _how_ romantic! I must tell Bernard! Perhaps his ghost haunts +them! _Do_ tell me his name." + +"A rather uncommon name--Yardly Gobion." + +Mrs. Burness grew pale. + +"I knew him when I was a girl," she said faintly. + +The man gripped a little ornamental knob on the arm of the chair. The +people who were coming after the dinner were being announced. He heard +Sir Lionel and Lady Picton's names shouted from the door. It was a +curious evening. + +"Were you a Miss Lovering before you married?" he asked. + +"Yes." + +"Then you're Marjorie!" + +"Yes," she said with a little smile, "I was Marjorie." + +They were silent for a time, and their faces changed a little. + +"Rather a fool, wasn't he?" Sturtevant forced himself to say at last. + +"Oh, yes, we flirted a little, don't you know, but I always thought him +rather poor fun." + +"Yes, he wasn't much. I remember when I was reading for the Bar I did +him a service, for which he was not in the least grateful." + +"Yes, he was quite that sort of person." + +"But still," said Sturtevant, "he was a man possessed of considerable +personal charm." + + +FINIS. + + + + + PLYMOUTH + + WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON + + PRINTERS + + * * * * * + + + + + BOOKS TO BUY. + + GREENING & CO.'S NEW PUBLICATIONS. + + The Pottle Papers. + + Written by SAUL SMIFF, and Illustrated by L. 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Eighth year + of publication. =Sixpence=; _cloth edition_, =One Shilling=. + + Yule-Tide Tales. A Volume of Dramatic and Humorous Stories. + + By CLEMENT SCOTT, S. J. ADAIR FITZ-GERALD, Mrs. ALBERT S. + BRADSHAW, T. C. ELDER, GEORGES JACOBI, W. SCOTT FOLKESTONE, A. + DEWAR WILLOCH, HARRY MONKHOUSE, ARTHUR COLLINS, HORACE LENNARD, + GEO. ALEXANDER, ROSS FERGUSON, GEO. POWNALL, DAN LENO, etc. + Numerous full-page pictures and other smaller illustrations + (including portraits of contributors) by SYDNEY H. SIME, ALICK + RITCHIE, EDWARD READE, BERNARD MUNNS, CLAUDE CALTHORPE, etc. _4to, + fancy wrapper._ =Sixpence.= + + The Summer Holiday. + + A Volume of Stories and Sketches. + + By FLORENCE MARRYAT, DAISY ST. AUBYN, SUTHERLAND EDWARDS, and J. + TULLOCH NASH. Published under the patronage of Lord Tredegar, Sir + Henry Irving, Mr. Wilson Barrett, Mr. Fred Terry, Mr. W. H. + Vernon, Miss M. E. Braddon, and Rev. W. Pepperell. _Crown 8vo, + boards._ + + =One Shilling.= + + * * * * * + + GREENING AND CO., + 20, CECIL COURT, CHARING CROSS ROAD, LONDON, W.C. + + + + +[Illustration: MR & MRS POTTLE] + + "=The Prince of Wales= has accepted a copy of Saul Smiff's + delightfully merry book, 'The Pottle Papers.' The Prince is sure + to enjoy Raven Hill's clever sketches."--_Court Circular._ + + "=A Merry Book.="--_Sheffield Telegraph._ + + "=An Amusing Book.="--_Glasgow Times._ + + "=A Funny Book.="--_Glasgow News._ + + + The Pottle Papers. + + WRITTEN BY SAUL SMIFF. + + The Pottle Papers. + + ILLUSTRATED BY L. RAVEN HILL. + + _Crown 8vo, art cloth, gilt top_, =2s. 6d.= + + + SOME PRESS OPINIONS. + + =Pall Mall Gazette.=--"Plenty of boisterous humour of the Max + Adeler kind ... humour that is genuine and spontaneous. The + author, for all his antics, has a good deal more in him than the + average buffoon. There is, for example, a very clever and subtle + strain of feeling running through the comedy in 'The Love that + Burned'--a rather striking bit of work. Mr. Raven Hill's + illustrations are as amusing as they always are." + + =Edinburgh News.=--"Amid the light literature that is to the front + at present there is nothing better than 'Pottle Papers.' It is + very brisk indeed. The illustrations are capital." + + =Weekly Sun.=--"The reader who takes this volume up is not likely + to put it down until he has read every one of the sketches, and we + can promise him he will be vastly diverted and entertained by + every one of them." + + =Table Talk.=--"The humour is essentially new and breezy.... The + laughter they excite will be a sharp burst of 'laughter + unquenchable.'" + + =Northern Figaro.=--"Fortunately, 'The Pottle Papers' are things + one can read and laugh at more than once without injury to either + the reader or the papers. The author is a humorist of the first + water, and his humour is not of the far-fetched or chestnutty + order. The illustrations by Mr. Raven Hill, like all that artist's + work on similar lines, are models of pen and ink humour." + + =Glasgow News.=--"The author displays a genuine _vis comica_ in + his well got up and nicely printed chronicles of the various + doings of the irrepressible Pottles.... A feature is the excellent + illustrations by Raven Hill, whose fitness to wear the mantle of + the late Chas. Keene becomes more apparent year by year." + + =Manchester Courier.=--"A book full of funny fooling, and is + admirably suited for the holiday season. The tedium of a railway + journey will disappear as if by magic by a perusal of the marital + affairs of Mr. and Mrs. Pottle. The book is pleasantly and + cleverly illustrated by L. Raven Hill, and the frontispiece, + entitled 'Mrs. Pottle's Cigar,' is an inspiration." + + =Sheffield Telegraph.=--"Anyone who wants a good laugh should get + 'The Pottle Papers.' They are very droll reading for an idle + afternoon, or picking up at any time when 'down in the dumps.' + They are very brief and very bright, and it is impossible for + anyone with the slightest sense of humour to read the book without + bursting into 'the loud guffaw' which does not always 'bespeak the + empty mind.'" + + + At all Booksellers, Libraries, and Railway Bookstalls. + + GREENING AND CO., + 20, CECIL COURT, CHARING CROSS ROAD, LONDON, W.C. + + + + + NOW READY. AT ALL BOOKSELLERS AND LIBRARIES. + + _A NEW AND INTERESTING STORY OF THEATRICAL AND LITERARY LIFE._ + + "FAME, THE FIDDLER." + + By S. J. ADAIR FITZ-GERALD. + + _Crown 8vo, Cloth gilt_, =6s.= + + + REVIEWERS' REMARKS. + + =Standard.=--"There are many pleasant pages in 'Fame, the + Fiddler,' which reminds us of 'Trilby,' with its pictures of + Bohemian life, and its happy-go-lucky group of good-hearted, + generous scribblers, artists, and playwrights. Some of the + characters are so true to life, that it is impossible not to + recognize them. Among the best incidents in the volume must be + mentioned the production of Pryor's play, and the account of poor + Jimmy Lambert's death, which is as moving an incident as we have + read for a long time. Altogether, 'Fame, the Fiddler,' is a very + human book, and an amusing one as well." + + =Pall Mall Gazette.=--"A pleasant, cheery story. Displays a rich + vein of robust imagination." + + =Western Daily Press.=--"A novel of more than average merit. + Cleverly written, and intensely interesting throughout." + + =Graphic.=--"The volume will please and amuse numberless people." + + =Literary World.=--"Full of interest. The racy and fluent + delineations of some phases of life in London cannot fail to take + hold of the imagination, and appeal to the interest of the + reader." + + =Lady.=--"Written in the happiest manner, by turns humorous and + pathetic, by one who evidently understands his subject + thoroughly." + + =Publishers' Circular.=--"A very well told story. The characters + are all skilfully drawn. The action of the piece moves with + commendable quickness. A large amount of amusement and interest + will be obtained from its pages." + + =Madame.=--"The book is eminently entertaining, and its truth to + nature is obvious." + + =Bookman.=--"An eminently readable book. It contains a number of + delightful character sketches--some of them clearly portraits--of + present-day life in Bohemia. We thoroughly enjoyed the history of + their many adventures." + + =Sheffield Telegraph.=--"Successfully reproduces a phase of life + which is always interesting, and we follow with pleasurable + sympathy the author's guidance through the mazes of Bohemia." + + =Public Opinion.=--"The little circle of needy, happy-go-lucky, + literary, artistic, and dramatic Bohemians is an amusing one, and + we thank Mr. Fitz-Gerald for introducing us to it." + + =Sunday Chronicle.=--"Full of unflagging interest from cover to + cover. Mr. Adair Fitz-Gerald possesses a chatty, ingratiating + style, and has the happy knack of putting himself at once on + friendly and confidential terms with the reader. 'Fame, the + Fiddler,' is rendered the more interesting by its + unconventionality." + + =Glasgow Citizen.=--"Holds the reader's attention from start to + finish. Gives a thoroughly convincing picture of a most + interesting phase of artistic life." + + =Bookseller.=--"A pleasant and attractive story. The various + scenes through which the reader is conducted are vividly and + skilfully delineated, and the _dramatis personæ_, varied and + diversified as they are, are rarely out of place, and each one of + them has the rare power of making the reader feel personally + interested. Mr. Fitz-Gerald may certainly be congratulated on a + complete success." + + + GREENING AND CO., + 20, CECIL COURT, CHARING CROSS ROAD, LONDON, W.C. + + + + + Two splendidly interesting Books by =CLEMENT SCOTT=. + + + THE WHEEL OF LIFE. + + A FEW MEMORIES AND RECOLLECTIONS ("_de omnibus rebus_"). + + With Portrait of Author from the celebrated painting by J. MORDECAI. + + _Crown 8vo, crimson buckram, gilt lettered_, =Two Shillings=. + + POPULAR EDITION, _paper wrapper_, =Sixpence=. + + =Times.=--"Will entertain a large class." + + =Telegraph.=--"Mr. Scott's pleasant style and facile eloquence + need no recommendation." + + T. P. O'CONNOR (=Weekly Sun=) says--A Book of the Week--"I have + found this slight and unpretentious little volume bright, + interesting reading. I have read nearly every line with pleasure." + + =Illustrated London News.=--"The story Mr. Scott has to tell is + full of varied interest, and is presented with warmth and + buoyancy." + + =Catholic Times.=--"The variety of Mr. Clement Scott's + reminiscences is one of the charms of the book. His pleasant style + never allows the interest to flag." + + =Punch.=--"What pleasant memories does not Clement Scott's little + book, 'The Wheel of Life,' revive? The writer's memory is good, + his style easy, and above all, which is a great thing for + reminiscences, chatty." + + =Referee.=--GEORGE R. SIMS (Dagonet) says: "Deeply interesting are + these memories and recollections of the last days of Bohemia.... I + picked up 'The Wheel of Life' at one in the morning, after a hard + night's work, and flung myself, weary and worn, into an easy chair + to glance at it while I smoked my last pipe. As I read all my + weariness departed, for I was young and light-hearted once again, + and the friends of my young manhood had come trooping back from + the shadows to make a merry night of it once more in London town. + And when I put the book down, having read it from cover to cover, + it was 'past three o'clock and a windy morning.'" + + + SISTERS BY THE SEA. + + (_SEASIDE AND COUNTRY SKETCHES._) + + SECOND EDITION JUST OUT. + + Vignette and Frontispiece designed by GEO. POWNALL. + + _Attractively bound in cloth._ =Price One Shilling.= + + =Observer.=--"The little book is bright and readable, and will come + like a breath of country air to many unfortunates who are tied by + the leg to chair, stool, or counter." + + =Morning.=--"Bright, and fresh and pretty.... Mr. Scott appeals so + directly to the sympathy of the reader that it is as good as + change of air to read of his trips to the seaside, and you almost + expect to find your face bronzed by the time you get to the end + of the book." + + =Sheffield Telegraph.=--"Bright, breezy, and altogether + readable.... East Anglia, Nelson's Land, &c., are all dealt with, + and touched lightly and daintily, as becomes a booklet meant to + be slipped in the pocket and read easily to the pleasing + accompaniment of the waves lazily lapping on the shingle by the + shore." + + =Dundee Advertiser.=--"It is all delightful, and almost as good as + a holiday. The city clerk, the jaded shopman, the weary milliner, + the pessimistic dyspeptic should each read the book. It will + bring a suggestion of sea breezes, the plash of waves, and all + the accessories of a holiday by the sea." + +_May be obtained at the Railway Bookstalls and of all Booksellers_. + + + GREENING AND CO., + 20, CECIL COURT, CHARING CROSS ROAD, LONDON, W.C. + + + + + AN IMPORTANT WORK ON ELOCUTION. + + THE ART OF ELOCUTION AND PUBLIC SPEAKING + + _Being simple explanations of the various branches of Elocution; + together with Lessons for Self-Instruction._ + + By ROSS FERGUSON + + (TEACHER OF ELOCUTION). + + INTRODUCTION BY GEORGE ALEXANDER + + (_St. James' Theatre_) + + Dedicated by permission to MISS ELLEN TERRY. + + + SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. + + =Bookman.=--"Good, clear-detailed advice by a practical teacher." + + =Scotsman.=--"A clear and simple exposition of the art." + + =Weekly Dispatch.=--"The Art of Elocution popularly and clearly + explained." + + =Australian Mail.=--"A useful little book. We can strongly + recommend it to the chairmen of public companies." + + =Manchester Courier.=--"Contains valuable lessons for + self-instruction." + + =Stage.=--"A carefully composed treatise, obviously written by one + as having authority. Students will find it of great service." + + =People's Friend.=--"Contains many valuable hints, and deals with + every branch of the elocutionist's art in a lucid and + intelligible manner." + + =Lloyd's.=--"Students will find it of great service." + + =Dramatic World.=--"A reliable guide for those who desire to + excel." + + =Aberdeen Free Press.=--"Very interesting and of considerable + value." + + =Whitehall Review.=--"A capital little guide for all who wish to + perfect themselves in the art of public speaking." + + =Era.=--"Each of the themes is treated without superfluous + verbiage, and in a manner very much to the point. Students of + Elocution will find the work thoroughly practical and useful." + + =Glasgow News.=--"An able dissertation on Elocution. Contains + sensible, straightforward advice for public speakers of all sorts + and conditions." + + =Dundee Advertiser.=--"Maybe read with profit by anyone wishing to + become an effective speaker." + + =Literary World.=--"The essentials of Elocution are dealt with in a + thoroughly capable and practical way. The chapter on 'Public + Speaking' is particularly satisfactory." + + =Glasgow Citizen.=--"A valuable aid to self-instruction. Has many + points which make it of special value. It is the work of an + expert, it is concise, simple, and directed towards a thoroughly + practical result." + + =Madame.=--"The work is pleasingly thorough. The instructions are + most interesting, and are lucidly expressed, physiological + details are carefully, yet not redundantly, dwelt on, so that the + intending student may have some very real and definite idea of + what he is learning about, and many valuable hints may be gleaned + from the chapters on 'Articulation and Modulation.' Not only for + actors and orators will this little book be found of great + service, but everyone may find pleasure and profit in reading + it." + + THE ART OF ELOCUTION. With Portrait of the Author. Now ready at + all Booksellers and Bookstalls. Crown 8vo, strongly bound in + Cloth. =Price One Shilling.= + + + GREENING AND CO., + 20, CECIL COURT, CHARING CROSS ROAD, LONDON, W.C. + + + + + A New Novel for Holiday Reading! + + THE FELLOW PASSENGERS: + + A MYSTERY AND ITS SOLUTION. + + BY RIVINGTON PYKE + + (Author of "THE MAN WHO DISAPPEARED"). + + _Long 12mo, 132 pp. Cloth_, =1/6=; _Sewed_, =1/-.= + + + SOME PRESS OPINIONS. + + =Whitehall Review.=--"Those who love a mystery with plenty of 'go,' + and a story which is not devoid of a certain amount of realism, + cannot do better than pick up 'Fellow Passengers.' The characters + are real men and women, and not the sentimental and artificial + puppets to which we have been so long accustomed by our + sensationalists. The book is brightly written, and of detective + stories it is the best I have read lately." + + =Weekly Dispatch.=--"If you want a diverting story of realism, + bordering upon actuality, you cannot do better than take up this + bright, vivacious, dramatic volume. It will interest you from + first page to last." + + =Bristol Mercury.=--"An exciting and thrilling story. It is very + ingeniously constructed and well worked out." + + =Catholic Times.=--"This is a well written story, with a good plot + and plenty of incident. From cover to cover there is not a dull + page, and the interest keeps up to the end." + + =Glasgow News.=--"It is a thriller.... The sort of book one cannot + help finishing at a sitting. Not merely because it is short, but + because it rivets.... The author uses his materials with great + ingenuity, his plot is cleverly devised, and he very effectively + works up to a striking _denouement_." + + "For fear divine Philosophy + Should push beyond her mark, and be + Procuress to the Lords of Hell."--TENNYSON.--_In Memoriam._ + + + THE MOST WEIRD AND EXCITING NOVEL OF THE DAY! + + A STARTLING STORY! + + THE DEVIL IN A DOMINO, + + A Realistic Study by CHARLES L'EPINE. + + ATTRACTIVELY BOUND IN CLOTH COVER. _Price One Shilling._ + + + REVIEWERS' REMARKS. + + =Sketch.=--"It is a well-written story. An admirable literary + style, natural and concise construction, succeed in compelling + the reader's attention through every line. We hope to welcome the + author again, working on a larger scene." + + =News of the World.=--"It combines excellent descriptive power with + a gruesome and fascinating plot, with sufficient mystery to keep + the interest well sustained. The story is built round a novel and + interesting incident of crime, and the literary style of the + writer makes acceptable horrors that otherwise would be too weird + for any but the strongest nerved readers." + + =Weekly Dispatch.=--"A remarkable book. It reads like the + production of a bad nightmare, and produces a creepiness of the + flesh. Any reader desiring to sup on horrors can here find his + fill. The book possesses considerable literary merit." + + =Star.=--"May be guaranteed to disturb your night's rest. It is a + gruesome, ghastly, blood-curdling, hair-erecting, sleep-murdering + piece of work, with a thrill on every page. Read it." + + =Hampshire Telegraph.=--"The principal figure in the story, Aleck + Severn, is a perfect imp of Satan. His course of crime, and the + manner in which Nemesis finally overtakes him, is very + graphically told." + + + GREENING AND CO., + 20, CECIL COURT, CHARING CROSS ROAD, LONDON, W.C. + + + + +Transcriber's Note. Very few changes have been made to the punctuation +and spelling in this book. The word Carodoc is now Caradoc and +Tannhaüser is Tannhäuser. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Hypocrite, by Cyril Arthur Edward Ranger Gull + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40651 *** |