Chapter 2

"That's three to you," I said coldly. "Twenty-four to nothing."

"Am I winning?"

"You're leading," I explained. "Only, you see, I may make a twenty at any moment."

"Oh!" She thought this over. "Well, I may make my three at any moment."

She chalked her cue and went over to her ball.

"What shall I do?"

"Just touch the red on the right-hand side," I said, "and you'll go into the pocket."

"The _right_-hand side? Do you mean _my_ right-hand side, or the ball's?"

"The right-hand side of the ball, of course; that is to say, the side opposite your right hand."

"But its right-hand side is opposite my _left_ hand, if the ball is facing this way."

"Take it," I said wearily, "that the ball has its back to you."

"How rude of it," said Celia, and hit it on the left-hand side, and sank it. "Was that what you meant?"

"Well ... it's another way of doing it."

"I thought it was. What do I give you for that?"

"_You_ get three."

"Oh, I thought the other person always got the marks. I know the last three times----"

"Go on," I said freezingly. "You have another turn."

"Oh, is it like rounders?"

"Something. Go on, there's a dear. It's getting late."

She went, and left the red over the middle pocket.

"A-ha!" I said. I found a nice place in the "D" for my ball. "Now then. This is the GRAY stroke, you know."

I suppose I was nervous. Anyhow, I just nicked the red ball gently on the wrong side and left it hanging over the pocket. The white travelled slowly up the table.

"Why is that called the grey stroke?" asked Celia with great interest.

"Because once, when Sir EDWARD GREY was playing the German Ambassador--but it's rather a long story. I'll tell you another time."

"Oh! Well, anyhow, did the German Ambassador got anything for it?"

"No."

"Then I suppose I don't. Bother."

"But you've only got to knock the red in for game."

"Oh!.... There, what's that?"

"That's a miscue. I get one."

"Oh!.... Oh well," she added magnanimously, "I'm glad you've started scoring. It will make it more interesting for you."

There was just room to creep in off the red, leaving it still over the pocket. With Celia's ball nicely over the other pocket there was a chance of my twenty break. "Let's see," I said, "how many do I want?"

"Twenty-nine," replied Celia.

"Ah," I said.... and I crept in.

"That's three to you," I said icily. "Game."

A. A. M.

* * * * *

OUR READY WRITERS.

The astonishing rapidity attained by Mr. WALTER MELVILLE in the composition of his plays as revealed in the evidence given in court last week has suggested an appeal to other leading authors for information as to their rate of production. We append the results herewith:--

Mr. MAX PEMBERTON observed that the speed of composition varied with the literary quality of the work produced. Personally he found that by far the most laborious and protracted mental effort was entailed in the writing of _Revues_. He had calculated that the amount of brain force he had spent on his last masterpiece was fully as large as that expended by GIBBON on his monumental _History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_. In evidence of the strain he added the following interesting statistics. He had worn out thirteen of the costliest gold-nibbed fountain pens; seven expert typists had been so exhausted that they had to undergo a rest-cure; and finally he himself had consumed no fewer than nineteen seven-and-sixpenny bottles of Blunker's Sanguinogen.

Sir EDWIN DURNING-LAWRENCE, Bart., poohpoohed the notion that the moderns were more rapid producers than their forefathers. As the result of his investigations he had conclusively proved that BACON was an infinitely more rapid producer than any living author. His time-table worked out as follows. BACON wrote _Chaucer_ in a little less than three weeks. He completed the _Faerie Queene_ in one sitting, allowing for refreshments, of seventy-four hours. The Plays of SHAKSPEARE occupied him from first to last not more than ten months. _Montaigne_ was dashed off in just a fortnight, while _Beaumont and Fletcher_, _Marlowe_, _Greene_, _Webster_ and _Ben Jonson_ took him exactly 37-1/2 days. Next to SHAKSPEARE'S Plays the _Divina Commedia_ was his most protracted effort, costing him nearly four months of unremitting labour. Sir EDWIN added in pathetic proof of the degeneracy of the moderns that his own famous pamphlet had taken him twice as long to compose as _Chaucer_ had taken BACON.

Mr. HALL CAINE strongly deprecated the tendency to put a premium on rapid composition, as though there were any special virtue in speed. His own novels, which were written with his heart's blood, represented in their ultimate form a rigorous condensation of materials ten or even fifteen times as bulky. It was in this process of condensation that the self-sacrificing side of true genius was most convincingly shown. But, great as was the strain involved in this painful process, even greater was that imposed on a successful author by the cruel importunity of the interviewer on the eve of publication. Such methods were absolutely alien to his nature, but he had to set against his own convenience the immeasurable disappointment which his refusal would cause his readers. It was one of the most pathetic tragedies of genius that the dictates of an austere reticence were so often set at nought by the impulses of a tender heart.

Sir H. H. HOWORTH said that the 6,500 columns of _The Times_ which he had filled in the last thirty years had been covered in exactly 3,000 minutes or 500 hours. In his contributions to _The Morning Post_, where he was accorded a larger type, he had attained a slightly greater velocity, almost equalling that of LOPE DE VEGA, the most prolific writer on record. On the other hand, in his _History of the Mongols_ he had adopted a rate of progress more in keeping with the leisurely habits of the race whose records he was collating. He added the interesting fact that, in spite of the saying _nomen omen_, both Dean SWIFT and Archdeacon HARE were slow composers.

* * * * *

THE SECRET OF OUR COMMERCIAL SUPREMACY.

* * * * *

"Coroners' juries have frequently placed on record their disapproval of amateur doctring."

_Manchester Guardian._

Which, in the opinion of _Mrs. Gamp_, they ought to mind their own business and not interfere with matters connected with religion.

* * * * *

* * * * *

MANES À LA MODE.

(_A vision suggested by the inspiriting rumour that green hair is about to become fashionable._)

In Springtide when the copses stir And hawthorn buds on boughs are seen, My love shall seek the hairdresser And have her hair dyed green.

Gay priestess of a Dryad cult With leaf-like locks she'll haunt the trees, Securing this superb result With Boffkin's verdigris.

And feathered songsters all secure, The merle, the lark, shall come and sit Amongst her emerald _chevelure_ And build their nests in it.

But when sweet Maytime draws to close Neaera still shall mark the date; She'll steal the red fires of the rose And daub them on her pate.

The ensanguined peonies shall grudge Her flaming top-knot's stolen hue (The bill shall come from Messrs. Fudge, "To tincture, Two Pound Two").

And bees and wasps to sip its bloom Shall buzz about that glorious tire And, having sipped, shall feel a gloom And painfully expire.

Sad Autumn shall arrive, and still To suit the note the glades have struck, Moat sweetly shall Neaera swill Her poll with barber's muck.

And now with gold and purple glow, Now russet and now rather wan, Weekly her scalp shall undergo Some transformation.

Till lastly, when by chymic jolt And sheer corrosion of the thatch, What time the withering woodlands moult My love shall moult to match,

And all those curls I loved to beg For keepsakes on the earth be strewed, Leaving her cranium like an egg Incomparably nude.

What matter? She can start again And ape the season's altering rigs More simply, having lost her mane, With _repertoires_ of wigs.

EVOE.

* * * * *

A Gold Coast Nut.

(_Copy of Letter addressed to a London Tailor_.)

"Dear Sir--I beg to say these words to you. I deem you will not have any vexation about my requirement. You may be pleased for my saying, your name having recommened to me by a certain friend of mine. He knows very well, else he could not give your name to me. Because no one knows you in this Gold Coast, with exception of him. That you are the best tailor at city called London. I desiderate to deal with in England. On the receipt of this note, genial forward me your samples by returning mail together with price list. I will be pleased to open a great business with you.... I will gladly submit your good reply by my great opportunities, hoping you will not fail. Yours faithfully ----"

* * * * *

"To name a girl after a battle or other public event," says _The Daily News_, "is positively wicked, as it gives away her age. The numerous 'Almas' christened during the Crimean War had good reason to know this; so have the 'Jubilees' and the 'Trafalgars.'" Quite so. We know a dear lady who might easily pass for twenty if her parents had not named her "Ramillies."

* * * * *

THE GIFT HORSE.

* * * * *

QUESTION TIME.

* * * * *

THE THREE WISHES.

(_A Story for Little Innocents._)

Once upon the usual time, a poor but comparatively honest woodcutter dwelt in a tiny hut on the edge of a great forest. Since he was so poor, his fare was simplicity itself: black bread and a cheese of goat's milk, washed down by draughts of cold water bottled at a neighbouring spring--in a word, just those articles of food which your dear mamma has nowadays to order specially from the most expensive shops.

Well, one winter evening the poor man was enjoying (if you can call it so) his frugal supper as above, when there came a gentle tap at the door; and on opening it he perceived upon the threshold a very old woman dressed in a cloak of faded rags. She was so old and so remarkably ugly that had she been a duchess not the most inventive of reporters could have done better for her than "distinguished looking." So the woodcutter, not unnaturally, regarded his visitor with some suspicion.

"Kind Sir," quavered the old woman, "I perish with hunger. Grant me, I entreat you, a crust of bread."

"Ah!" said the woodcutter--to gain time. He was, of course, well aware that there was at least a sporting chance of the old woman being a fairy in disguise, in which case it would be perfectly sickening to have neglected so good a thing. On the other hand he knew also that there were a great many undeserving cases. As he was deliberating, however, he perceived beneath the old woman's gown the glitter of a white satin toe, and this decided him to risk it. [N.B. For our youthful readers, this is an infallible sign for the detection of disguised fairies--try it at the next pantomime you go to.] "Come in and welcome, Mother," said the woodcutter, and flung wide the door.

Accordingly the old woman entered the hut, and having done apparent justice to what was left of the woodcutter's meal, "Now," said she, striking an appropriate attitude, "behold!" and in the twinkling of an eye there she stood, the complete fairy, all shimmer and spangles.

"Well!" exclaimed the woodcutter, looking as astonished as he could manage, "I haven't a notion how that's done!"

"And as a reward for your hospitality," continued the fairy, "choose three wishes, and they shall be granted."

"I assure you," began the woodcutter politely, "nothing was further from my----" but a look in the fairy's eyes stopped him. "Of course, if you insist," he said; adding in rather a different tone, "Perhaps you'll excuse me for putting the matter on a business-like footing."

So saying, he produced from his pocket a small pamphlet entitled, _On Transactions with Fairies; with Some Hints to Beginners_. Having studied this for a moment, "I suppose," said the woodcutter, "that by 'wishes' you mean without restriction? Not anything within reason, or economies of that sort?"

The visitor looked surprised and a little hurt. "There is no such thing as reason in Fairyland," she said stiffly.

"The mistake was mine," said the woodcutter.

"Only one wish is closed to you," resumed the fairy; "you may not wish to have any more wishes."

"That's a pity," said the woodcutter, "especially as I'd only just thought of; it."

"An obvious precaution that we were obliged to take in our own interests. We lost heavily in that way at one time. But consider well. You have the choice of wealth beyond the dreams of avarice. You can become the most powerful monarch in the world. Beauty can be yours, or wisdom or piety. You can--"

"I wonder," asked the woodcutter, "if you'd mind not talking for a moment? This is a delicate crisis and demands concentration. I think that first of all," he continued thoughtfully, "I will suggest that you endow me with perfect and unalterable self-esteem for ever, so that in case I make a fool of myself over the other two wishes I shall not have the misery of perceiving it."

"It is done," said the fairy, and at once the woodcutter was sensible of an inward elation like the effect of good champagne, only more so.

"I'm really managing this rather well," he thought with a smile. "I wish the foreman of the lumber works, who called me a fool yesterday, could see me now!"

And immediately there was the foreman, blinking and rubbing his eyes, and gazing with irritation at the fairy and the woodcutter. The latter laughed pleasantly.

"That," he said to the fairy, "is distinctly one up to you! If it wasn't for the gift of self-esteem I should be calling myself every kind of idiot. But the best of us are liable to error!"

"You have now," the fairy reminded him, "one wish left. Will you desire that your task-master here be returned to the place whence he came?"

"I will not," said the woodcutter. "If it amuses him to stay, he is quite welcome. If not, I imagine him to be capable of walking. Let me see. At the present moment the only wants I can suggest are both few and simple; a million pounds invested in Government stock, the constitution of a gladiator, and to be as wise as the greatest fool on earth imagines himself--these are the lot. But no doubt I shall recollect others presently."

"One wish only," the fairy repeated a little sharply, "and that without delay, for time presses."

"You needn't rub it in," said the woodcutter. "I have already made my choice. Are you ready? Go! I wish to have everything I really want in the world." He paused expectantly, and even a little apprehensively.

"It is done," said the fairy; but nothing happened.

"That's all right!" said the woodcutter with obvious relief. "I will now, as an extra, wish both you and the foreman good evening."

Whereupon he bowed them politely out of the hut and returned chuckling to his hygienic diet. Which appears to show that even in the year Once men were not always the fools that they are usually represented.

* * * * *

AIDS TO ADVERTISERS.

* * * * *

THE NOSE HAS IT.

I was presiding at one of my periodical stocktakings.

"Sort them all out," I had said, "and let me see them."

When I had reached home they were all there, on view.

There were thirty-four this time. I went through them--A.H.L., T.W.T., E.F., G.H., M.L.K., O.T., B., F.W.H., and so forth.

"What a lot," I said.

"Yes; I think it's the biggest lot you've ever had. Last time there were only seventeen."

"And what did we do about them?" I asked.

"You went through them and nothing happened."

"I didn't send any back?" I said in astonishment.

"No. You got ready to, and then, I don't know why, but you didn't."

"What a low trick!" I said. "Worse than borrowing books. Some of these are pretty good, aren't they?"

"Yes, this one"--holding up F.W.H.--"is a beauty. The very finest quality."

I took it and felt it.

"It is," I said. "I wonder where he buys them. Bond Street, I suppose. Is there anything else as good as that one?"

"No, nothing quite so good; but these are all right;" and I was handed E.F. and M.L.K.

I felt them too.

"Yes," I said, "they're first-rate."

I laid them on one side.

"Very well," I said, gathering the rest into a bunch, "see that all those go back with my compliments, best thanks and regrets for the delay. I'll keep these three a day or so longer for patterns."

Did I say that all this happened last year? It did.

Yesterday I had another borrowed-handkerchief parade and found forty-three. The spectacle was not without its pathos. F.W.H. now had a lot of holes; so had E.F. and M.L.K. But of a softness still!

All the old friends were there too, in spite of what I had directed.

"I thought these were to have gone back," I said. "Didn't I say so?"

"Yes; but--"

"But what?"

"I didn't think you really meant it."

I suppose I didn't.

* * * * *

"Herr Ballin ... spends his whole day in the offices of his company on the Alster, and rarely leaves Hamburg except for business journeys or to escape from some public cemetery."--_Manchester Guardian._

Why is he so unpopular?

* * * * *

"Some day, perhaps a few centuries hence, if it is desired to turn the ship to the starboard, the order starboard will be given, and to the star-order 'starboard' will be given, and to the star-simpler, does it not?"

_Naval and Military Record._

Much.

* * * * *

"With the exception of the police, Press representatives, and photographers there were comparatively few people in the thoroughfare. The photographers were requested by the police to refrain from operating, and they withdrew, while the remainder found their virgil very cold and unexciting."

_Newcastle Daily Journal._

We confess that the Roman poet often used to leave us cold and unexcited too.

* * * * *

* * * * *

LOVE'S LABOUR.

I walked into Charles's room with undoubted meaning--that is to say, he could see I intended to be there.

"Hello!" said Charles. "Help yourself to a chair."

"Thanks," I said--"thanks," and I sat down.

Charles looked at me thoughtfully. "There's something the matter," he said.

"Ah! You've noticed it too, Charles. I thought so myself."

"Have you any idea what it is?" he asked.

I looked him steadily in the face. "Charles," I began, "you are a stockbroker. You know the value of money." He groaned.

"Very well, I have a question to ask you--a simple financial question. It is this. What, in your opinion as a stockbroker, a level-headed stockbroker, is the least one can start on?"

"It all depends," he said. "Of course there's the deposit of securities, £1000, and then--"

I waved my hand. "My dear man," I said, "I'm not thinking of marrying the Stock Exchange."

Charles closed his eyes. "Good Lord," he murmured. "Poor old thing. I never thought of this. Take a cigarette--or perhaps you don't smoke now."

I took a cigarette with a fine independence. I carried it further and borrowed a match.

"Now," I said, "we must try and keep to the point. What is the least one can start on?"

"I don't know," he replied. "I've never begun. By the way, I must congratulate you. Who is she?"

"Daphne," I said, and smiled wanly.

"You don't look well."

"I love her," I said simply, and the pathos of it all fairly gripped me.

Charles smoothed his hair. "We'd better stick to business," he said.

In an instant I was a business man. "Right," I said crisply. "Let me put the question in another way. What is the least on which one can start?"

"Well, it all depends on what sort of an establishment you wish to keep up. If you--"

"Nothing," I said quickly, "is good enough for Daphne. She's so absolutely sweet. She sings, Charles, divinely. She dresses perfectly. She plays the pianoforte exquisitely. She sings, did I say, divinely."

"Talking of establishments," said Charles--

"You're right," I agreed, and I moved into a chair by the table and drew out my fountain pen. "We shall want a house," I began helpfully.

"A house? Oh, yes, I know. One of those things with rooms. Just one house would do for a start, I suppose?"

I regarded him sorrowfully. "Charles, this is a serious matter."

"There's humour in everything if you look for it. How about eight hundred?"

"Eight hundred!" I laughed brokenly.

"Well, seven hundred?"

"Ha! ha!"

"Six hundred? Dash it, that's very little."

"Charles," I pleaded.

"I don't want to be hard," he said, "but in justice to the people who come to stay with you I can't go any lower."

"Not if we did without wine?"

"Six hundred."

"Wine and cigars, Charles?"

"Six hundred."

"I'll give up auction."

Charles cleared his throat as though about to make a concession.

"Make it five," I pleaded. "Make it five and you shall be my best man."

"Very well," he said, "I make it five hundred."

"And now, Charles, good-bye."

"Why good-bye?"

"I love her," I said simply.

"Poor old thing," he said. "Let me know about the wedding. I must make a point of being there."

I pressed his hand. "You're a brick," I said.

Then I hurried out into a taxi and drove to Daphne's.

She refused me.

* * * * *

THE LEAN-TO SHED.

(_Communicated by an eight-year-old._)

I've a palace set in a garden fair, And, oh, but the flowers are rich and rare, Always growing And always blowing Winter or summer--it doesn't matter-- For there's never a wind that dares to scatter The wonderful petals that scent the air About the walls of my palace there. And the palace itself is very old, And it's built of ivory splashed with gold. It has silver ceilings and jasper floors And stairs of marble and crystal doors; And whenever I go there, early or late, The two tame dragons who guard the gate And refuse to open the frowning portals To sisters, brothers and other mortals, Get up with a grin And let me in. And I tickle their ears and pull their tails And pat their heads and polish their scales; And they never attempt to flame or fly, Being quelled by me and my human eye. Then I pour them drink out of golden flagons, Drink for my two tame trusty dragons.... But John, Who's a terrible fellow for chattering on, John declares They are Teddy-bears; And the palace itself, he has often said, Is only the gardener's lean-to shed.