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diff --git a/40651-8.txt b/40651-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5494e77..0000000 --- a/40651-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4748 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Hypocrite, by Cyril Arthur Edward Ranger Gull - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Hypocrite - -Author: Cyril Arthur Edward Ranger Gull - -Release Date: September 2, 2012 [EBook #40651] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HYPOCRITE *** - - - - -Produced by Mark C. Orton, Sue Fleming and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - -[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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A Detective Story. - - By RIVINGTON PYKE, author of "The Man who Disappeared." - - _Cloth_, =One Shilling and Sixpence=. - - _Sewed, picture cover_, =One Shilling=. - - - - - BOOKS TO BUY. - - The Devil in a Domino. A Psychological Mystery. - - By "CHAS. L'EPINE." _Long 12mo, attractively bound in cloth._ - - =One Shilling.= - - The Art of Elocution and Public Speaking. - - By ROSS FERGUSON, with an Introduction by GEORGE ALEXANDER. - Dedicated by permission to Miss ELLEN TERRY. _Crown 8vo, strongly - bound in cloth._ =One Shilling.= - - Death and the Woman. A Powerful Tale. - - By ARNOLD GOLSWORTHY. Picture cover drawn by SYDNEY H. SIME. - _Crown 8vo._ =One Shilling.= - - London. A Handy Guide for the Visitor, Sportsman, and Naturalist. - - By J. W. CUNDALL. Numerous Illustrations. - - _Long 12mo, cloth._ =One Shilling.= - - America Abroad. A Handy Guide for Americans in England. - - Edited by J. W. CUNDALL. With numerous Illustrations. 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 THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HYPOCRITE *** - -***** This file should be named 40651-8.txt or 40651-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/6/5/40651/ - -Produced by Mark C. 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