"To-morrow," I said pleasantly, by way of opening the conversation, "we shall have another long day's sight-seeing, mitigated with ices."

"I'm sorry to say," said Lalage, "that we go home to-morrow. The steamer sails at 11 a.m."

"Surely there can be no real need for such hurry. Now that we have Miss Battersby among us the Archdeacon and Hilda's mother will be quite satisfied."

"It's not that in the least," said Lalage. "Is it, Hilda?"

Hilda said something about return tickets, but Lalage snubbed her. I gathered that there was reason for precipitancy more serious than the by-laws of the steamboat company.

"I am confident," I said, "that Selby-Harrison is capable of carrying on the work of exterminating bishops."

"It's not that either," said Lalage. "The fact is that we have come to Lisbon on business, not for pleasure. You've probably guessed that already."

"I feared it. Of the two reasons you gave me this morning for coming here——"

"I haven't told you any reason yet," said Lalage.

"Excuse me, but when we first met this morning you said distinctly that you had come to see me. I hardly flattered myself that could really be true."

"It was," said Lalage. "Quite true."

"It's very kind of you to say so and of course I quite believe you, but then you afterward gave me to understand that your real object was to work up the emotion caused by the appearance of a dead king with a view to utilizing it to add intensity to a prize poem. That, of course, is business of a very serious kind. That's why I meant to say a minute ago that of the two reasons you gave me for coming here the second was the more urgent."

"Don't ramble in that way," said Lalage. "It wastes time. Hilda, explain the scheme which we have in mind at present."

Hilda threw away the greater part of a cigarette and sat up in her beehive. I do not think that Hilda enjoys smoking cigarettes. She probably does it to impress the public with the genuine devotion to principle of the A.T.R.S.

"The society," said Hilda "has met with difficulties. Its objects——"

"He knows the objects," said Lalage. "Don't you?"

"To expose in the public press——" I began.

"That's just where we're stuck," said Lalage.

"Do you mean to tell me that the Irish newspapers have been so incredibly stupid as not to publish the articles sent by you, Hilda, and Selby-Harrison?"

"Not a single one of them," said Lalage.

"And the bishops," I said, "still wear their purple stocks, their aprons, and their gaiters; and still talk tommyrot through the length and breadth of the land."

"But we're not the least inclined to give in," said Lalage.

"Don't," I said. "Keep on pelting the editors with articles. Some day one of them will be away from home and an inexperienced subordinate——"

"That would be no use," said Hilda.

"What we have determined to do," said Lalage, "is to start a paper of our own."

"It ought," I said, "to be a huge success."

"I'm glad you agree with us there," said Lalage. "We've gone into the matter minutely. Selby-Harrison worked it out and we don't see how we could possibly make less than 12 per cent. Not that we want to make money out of it. Our efforts are purely—what's that word, Hilda? You found it in a book, but I always forget it."

"Altruistic," said Hilda.

"You understand that, I suppose?" said Lalage to me.

"Yes," I said, "I do. But I wasn't thinking of the financial side of the enterprise when I spoke of its being an immense success. What I had in mind——"

"Finance," said Lalage severely, "cannot possibly be ignored."

"All we want," said Hilda, "is some one to guarantee the working expenses for the first three months."

"And I said," added Lalage, "that you'd do it if we came out here and asked you."

I recollected hearing of an Englishman who started a daily paper which afterward failed and it was said that he lost L300,000 by the venture. I hesitated.

"What we ask," said Lalage, "is not money, but a guarantee, and we are willing to pay 8 per cent, to whoever does it. The difference between a guarantee and actual money is that in the one case you will probably never have to pay at all, while in the other you will have to fork out at once."

"Am I," I asked, "to get 8 per cent, on what I don't give, but merely promise?"

"That's what it comes to," said Lalage. "I call it a good offer."

"It's one of the most generous I ever heard," I said. "May I ask if Selby-Harrison——?"

"It was his suggestion," said Hilda. "Neither Lalage nor I are any good at sums, specially decimals."

"And," said Lalage, "you'll get a copy of each number post free just the same as if you were a regular subscriber!"

"We've got one advertiser already," said Hilda.

"And," said Lalage, "advertisments pay the whole cost of newspapers nowadays. Any one who knows anything about the business side of the press knows that. Selby-Harrison met a man the other day who reports football matches and he said so."

"Is it cocoa," I asked, "or soap, or hair restorer?"

"No. It's a man who wants to buy second-hand feather beds. I can't imagine what he means to do with them when he gets them, but that's his business. We needn't worry ourselves so long as he pays us."

"Lalage," I said, "and Hilda, I am so thoroughly convinced of your energy and enterprise, I feel so sure of Selby-Harrison's financial ability and I am so deeply in sympathy with the objects of your, may I say our, society, that if I possessed L300,000 you should have it to-morrow; but, owing to, recent legislation affecting Irish land, the ever-increasing burden of income tax and the death duties——"

"Don't start rambling again," said Lalage. "It isn't in the least funny, and we're both beginning to get sleepy. Nobody wants L300,000."

"It takes that," I said, "to run a newspaper."

"What we want," said Lalage, "is thirty pounds, guaranteed—ten pounds a month for three months. All you have to do is to sign a paper——"

"Did Selby-Harrison draw up the paper?"

"Yes. And Hilda has it upstairs in her trunk."

"That's enough," I said. "Anything Selby-Harrison has drawn up I'll sign. Perhaps, Hilda, you'll be good enough—I wouldn't trouble you if I knew where to find it myself."

"Get it, Hilda," said Lalage.

Hilda struggled out of her beehive and immediately stumbled into a bed of stocks. It had become very dark while we talked, but I think the scent of the flowers might have warned her of her danger. I picked her up carefully and set her on the path.

"Perhaps," I said, "you won't mind taking off your shoes as you cross the hall outside the drawing-room. Mr. and Mrs. Dodds must have found out about Miss Battersby's bridge by this time."

I think Hilda winked. I did not actually see her wink. It was too dark to see anything; but there was a feeling in the air as if somebody winked and Lalage had nothing to wink about.

"If," I added, "they rush out and catch you, they will certainly ask you where I am. You must be prepared for that. Would you very much mind exaggerating a little, just for once?"

This time Hilda giggled audibly.

"You might say that Lalage and I had gone for a long walk and that you do not know when we will be back."

"That wouldn't be true," said Lalage, "so of course it can't be said."

"We can easily make it true," I said. "I don't want to go for a walk at this time of night and I'm sure you don't, after the exhausting day you've had—but rather than put Hilda in an awkward position and set her conscience gnawing at her during the night we might start at once, not telling Hilda when we'll be back."

"All right," said Lalage. "Pussy will fuss afterward of course. But——"

"I entirely forgot Miss Battersby," I said. "She would fuss to a certainty. She might write to the Archdeacon. After all, Hilda, you'll have to chance it with your shoes off. But for goodness' sake don't sneeze or fall or anything of that sort just outside the door."

Hilda returned in about ten minutes. She told us that she whistled "Annie Laurie" on her way upstairs so as to give any one who might hear her the impression that she was the boy employed by the hotel proprietor to clean boots. The ruse, a brilliantly original one, was entirely successful. The bridge party, as I learned next day, including Miss Battersby, had gone to bed early. They did not play very much bridge. Hilda brought Selby-Harrison's form of guarantee with her. It was written on a sheet of blue foolscap paper and ornamented with a penny stamp, necessary, so a footnote informed me, because the sum of money involved was more than two pounds. I signed it with a fountain pen by the light of a wax match which Lalage struck on the sole of her shoe and obligingly held so that it did not quite burn my hair.



CHAPTER VII

It is only very gradually that one comes to appreciate Lalage. I had known her since she was quite a small child. I even recollect her insisting upon my wheeling her perambulator once when I was a schoolboy, and naturally resented such an indignity. Yet I had failed to realize the earnestness and vigour of her character. I did not expect anything to come of the guarantee which I had signed for her. I might and ought to have known better; but I was in fact greatly surprised when I received by post the first copy of the Anti-Tommy-Rot Gazette. It was not a very large publication, but it contained more print than I should have thought obtainable for the sum of ten pounds. Besides the title of the magazine and a statement that this issue was Vol. I, No. I., there was a picture of a young lady, clothed like the goddess Diana in the illustrations of the classical dictionary, who was urging on several large dogs of most ferocious appearance. In the distance, evidently terrified by the dogs, were three animals of no recognized species, but very disgusting in appearance, which bore on their sides the words "Tommy Rot." The huntress was remarkably like Hilda in appearance and the initials "L.B." at the bottom left-hand corner of the picture told me that the artist was Lalage herself. One of the dogs was a highly idealized portrait of a curly haired retriever belonging to my mother. The objects of the chase I did not recognize as copies of any beasts known to me; though there was something in the attitude of the worst of them which reminded me slightly of the Archdeacon. I never heard what Hilda's mother thought of this picture. If she is the kind of woman I imagine her to be she probably resented the publication of a portrait of her daughter dressed in a single garment only and that decidedly shorter than an ordinary night dress.

Opening the magazine at page one, I came upon an editorial article. The rapid increase of the habit of talking tommyrot was dwelt upon and the necessity for prompt action was emphasized. The objects of the society were set forth with a naked directness, likely, I feared, to cause offence. Then came a paragraph, most disquieting to me, in which the generous gentleman whose aid had rendered the publication of the magazine possible was subjected to a good deal of praise. His name was not actually mentioned, but he was described as a distinguished diplomatist well known in an important continental court. This made me uneasy. There are not very many distinguished diplomatists who would finance a magazine of the kind. I felt that suspicion would fasten almost at once upon me, in the event of there being any kind of public inquiry. Next to the editorial article came a page devoted on one side entirely to the advertisement of the gentleman who wanted second-hand feather beds. The other side of it was announced as "To Let," and the attention of advertisers was called to the unique opportunity offered to them of making their wishes known to an intelligent and progressive public. After that came the bishops.

Each bishop had at least half a page to himself. Some had much more, the amount of space devoted to them being apparently regulated in accordance with the enormity of their offences. There was a note in italics at the end of each indictment which ran thus:

"All inquirers after the original sources of the information used in this article are requested to apply to J. Selby-Harrison, Esq., 175 Trinity College, Dublin, by whom the research in the columns of the daily papers has been conducted with much ability and disinterested discretion. P.S.—J. Selby-Harrison has in all cases preserved notes of the dates, etc., for purposes of verification." The working up of the material thus collected was without doubt done by Lalage. I recognized her style. Hilda probably corrected the proof.

In the letter which Lalage wrote to me at the time of the founding of the A.T.R.S. she spoke of university life as broadening the mind and enlarging the horizon. Either Oxford in this respect is inferior to Trinity College, Dublin, or else my mind has narrowed again since I took my degree and my horizon has shrunk. I did not feel that the episcopal pronouncements quoted deserved the eminence to which Lalage promoted them. They struck me as being simply commonplace. I had grown quite accustomed to them and had come to regard them as proper and natural things for bishops to say. For instance, the very first paragraph in this pillory of Lalage's was devoted to a bishop, I forget his name and territorial title, who had denounced Sir Walter Scott's "Ivanhoe." Some evil-minded person had put forward this novel as a suitable reading book for Irish boys and girls in secondary schools, and the bishop had objected strongly. Lalage was cheerfully contemptuous of him. Without myself sharing his feeling, I can quite understand that he may have found it his duty to protest against the deliberate encouragement of such dangerous reading; and it is seldom right to laugh at a man for doing his duty. I read "Ivanhoe" when I was a boy and I distinctly remember that at least one eminent ecclesiastic is presented in a most unfavourable light. If Irish boys and girls got into the way of thinking of twelfth-century priors as gay dogs, the step onward to actual disrespect for contemporary bishops would be quite a short one.

There was another bishop (he appeared a few pages further on in the Gazette) who objected to the education of boys and girls under seven years of age in the same infant schools. He said that this mixing of the sexes would destroy the beautiful modesty of demeanour which distinguishes Irish girls from those of other nations. Lalage poked fun at this man for a page and a half. I hesitate to say that she was actually wrong. My own experience of infant schools is very small. I once went into one, but I did not stay there for more than five minutes, hardly long enough to form an opinion about the wholesomeness of the moral atmosphere. But in this case again I can enter into the feelings of the bishop. He probably knows, having once been six years old himself, that all boys of that age are horrid little beasts. He also knows—he distinctly says so in the pastoral quoted by Lalage—that the charm of maidenhood is a delicate thing, comparable to the bloom on a peach or the gloss on a butterfly's wings. Even Miss Battersby, who must know more about girls than any bishop, felt that Lalage had lost something not to be regained when she became intimate enough with Tom Kitterick to rub glycerine and cucumber into his cheeks.

Lalage was, in my opinion, herself guilty of something very like the sin of tommyrot when she mocked another bishop for a sermon he had preached on "Empire Day." He said that wherever the British flag flies there is liberty for subject peoples and several other obviously true things of the same kind. I do not see what else, under the circumstances, the poor man could say. Nor do I blame him in the least for boldly demanding more battleships to carry something—I think he said the Gospel—to still remoter lands. Lalage chose to pretend that liberty and subjection are contradictory terms, but this is plainly absurd. Lord Thormanby talked over this part of the Gazette with me some months later and gave it as his opinion that a man whom he knew in the club had put the case very well by saying that there are several quite distinct kinds of liberty.

I found myself still more puzzled by Lalage's attitude toward another man who was not even, strictly speaking, a bishop. He was a moderator, or an ex-moderator, of the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church. He had made a speech in which he set forth reasons why he and others like him should have a recognized place in the vice-regal court. I am not myself passionately fond of vice-regal courts, but I know that many people regard them with great reverence, and I do not see why a man should be laughed at for wanting to walk through the state rooms in Dublin Castle in front of somebody else. It is a harmless, perhaps a laudable, ambition. Lalage chose to see something funny in it, and I am bound to say that when I had finished her article I too began to catch a glimpse of the amusing side of it.

I spent a long time over the Gazette. The more I read it the greater my perplexity grew. Many things which I had accepted for years as solemn and necessary parts of the divine ordering of the world were suddenly seized, contorted, and made to grin like apes. I felt disquieted, inclined, and yet half afraid, to laugh. I was rendered acutely uncomfortable by an editorial note which followed the last jibe at the last bishop: "The next number of the Anti-Tommy-Rot Gazette will deal with politicians and may be expected to be lively. Subscribe at once.—Ed."

I was so profoundy distrustful of my own judgment in delicate matters that I determined to find out if I could what Dodds thought of Lalage's opinions. Dodds is preeminently a man of the world, very sound, unemotional and full of common sense. I did not produce the Gazette or mention Lalage's name, for Dodds has had a prejudice against her since the evening on which he played bridge with Miss Battersby. Nor did I make a special business of asking his advice. I waited until we sat down to bridge together after dinner and then I put a few typical cases before him in casual tones, as if they were occurring to me at the moment.

"Dodds," I said, holding the cards in my hand, "supposing that a bishop for whom you always had a respect on account of the dignity of his office, were to say——"

"I wouldn't have any respect for a bishop on account of his office," said Dodds. "Why don't you deal?"

"We're Presbyterians," said Mrs. Dodds.

"That needn't prevent you considering this case, for the word bishop is here used—that is to say, I am using it—to mean any eminent ecclesiastic. All right, I'm dealing as fast as I can. Supposing that a man of that kind, call him a bishop or anything else you like, were to say that boys and girls ought not to read 'Ivanhoe' on account of the danger to their faith and morals contained in that book, would you or would you not say that he, the bishop, not 'Ivanhoe,' was talking what in ordinary slang is called tommyrot?"

I finished dealing and, after glancing rather inattentively at my cards, declared hearts.

Dodds, who was sitting on my left, picked up his hand and doubled my hearts. He did so in a tone that convinced me that I had been rash in my declaration. He paid no attention whatever to my question about the bishop and "Ivanhoe." It turned out that he had a remarkably good hand and he scored thirty-two below the line, which of course gave him the game. Mrs. Dodds, who was my partner, seemed temporarily soured, and while Dodds was explaining to us how well he had played, she took up the question about the bishop.

"I'd be thinking," she said, "that that bishop of yours had very little to do to be talking that way. I'd say he'd be the kind of man who'd declare hearts with no more than one honour on his hand and that the queen."

This rather nettled me, for I quite realized that my hand did not justify a heart declaration. I had made it inadvertently my mind being occupied with more important matters.

"Of course," I said, "you're prejudiced in favour of Sir Walter Scott. You Scotch are all the same. A word against Sir Walter or Robbie Burns is enough for you. But I'll put another case to you: Supposing a bishop—understanding the word as I've explained it—were to say that infant schools are a danger to public morality on account of the way that boys and girls are mixed up together in the same classrooms, would he, in your opinion——?"

Dodds has a horribly coarse mind. He stopped dealing and grinned. Then he winked at the young engineer who sat opposite to him. He, I was pleased to see, had the grace to look embarrassed. Mrs. Dodds, who of course knows how her husband revels in anything which can be twisted into impropriety, interrupted me with a question asked in a very biting tone.

"Is it chess you think you are playing the now, or is it bridge?"

I had to let the next deal pass without any further attempt to discover Dodds's opinion about tommyrot. I was trying to think out what Mrs. Dodds meant by accusing me of wanting to play chess. It struck me as an entirely gratuitous and, using the word in its original sense, impertinent suggestion. Nothing I had said seemed in any way to imply that I was thinking of chess. As a matter of fact, I detest the game and never play it. I suppose I am slow-witted, but it did not occur to me for quite a long time, that, being a Scotch Presbyterian, the mention of bishops was more likely to call up to her mind the pieces which sidle obliquely across a chessboard than living men of lordly degree. I was not sure in the end that I had tracked her thought correctly, but I know that I made several bad mistakes during the next and the following hands.

When it worked round to my turn to deal again I gave out the cards very slowly and made another attempt to find out whether Dodds did or did not agree with Lalage about tommyrot.

"Supposing," I said, "that a clergyman, an ordinary clergyman, not a bishop, the kind of clergyman whom you would perhaps describe as a minister, were to preach a sermon about the British Empire and were to say——"

"In our church," said Mrs. Dodds snappily, "the ministers preach the Gospel."

"I am convinced of that," I said, "but you must surely admit that the great idea of the imperial expansion of the race, Greater Britain beyond the seas, and—the White Man's Burden, and all that kind of thing, are not essentially anti-evangelical, when looked at from the proper point of view. Suppose, for instance, that our hypothetical clergyman were to take for his text——"

I laid down the last card in the pack on my own pile and looked triumphantly at Dodds. I had, at all events, not made a misdeal. Dodds put his hand down on his cards with a bang. He has large red hands, which swell out between the knuckles and at the wrists. I saw by the way his fingers were spread on the table that he was going to speak strongly. I recollected then, when it was too late, that Dodds is an advanced Radical and absolutely hates the idea of imperialism. I tried to diminish his wrath by slipping in an apologetic explanation before he found words to express his feelings.

"The clergyman I mean," I said, "isn't—he's purely imaginary, but if he had any real existence he wouldn't belong to your church. He'd be a bishop."

"He'd better," said Dodds grimly.

I felt so much depressed that I declared spades at once. I gathered from the tone in which he spoke that if the clergyman who preached imperialism came within the jurisdiction of Dodds, or for the matter of that of Mrs. Dodds, it would be the worse for him. By far his best chance of a peaceful life was to be a bishop and not to live in Scotland. This was a great deal worse than Lalage's way of treating him. She merely sported, pursuing him with gay ridicule, mangling his pet quotations, smiling at his swelling rotundities. Dodds would have sent him to the stake without an opportunity for recantation.

I lost altogether seven shillings during the evening, which represents a considerable run of bad luck, for we never played for more than a shilling for each hundred points. Mrs. Dodds, of course, lost the same amount. I tried to make it up to her next day by sending her, anonymously, six pairs of gloves. She must have known that they came from me for she was very gracious and friendly next evening. But for a long time afterward Dodds used to annoy her by proposing to talk about bishops and infant schools whenever she happened to be my partner.



CHAPTER VIII

A week passed without my hearing anything from home about Lalage's Gazette. My mother's weekly letter—she wrote regularly every Sunday afternoon—contained nothing but the usual chronicle of minor events. I had no other regular correspondent. The Archdeacon had written me eleven letters since I left home, all of them dealing with church finance and asking for subscriptions. Canon Beresford never wrote to me at all. I was beginning to hope that the Anti-Tommy-Rot Gazette had failed to catch the eye—ought I to say the ear?—of the public. This would of course be a disappointment to Lalage, perhaps also to Hilda and Selby-Harrison, but it would be a great relief to me. The more I thought of it the more I disliked the idea of being identified with the generous gentleman whose timely aid had rendered the publication possible.

My hopes were shattered by the arrival of no less than six letters by one post. One of them was addressed in my mother's writing, and I feared the worst when I saw it. It was quite the wrong day for a letter from her, and I knew that nothing except a serious disaster would induce her to break through her regular rule of Sunday writing. Another of the letters came from the Archdeacon. I knew his hand. Two of the other envelopes bore handwritings which I did not recognize. The addresses of the remaining two were typewritten. I turned them all over thoughtfully and decided to open my mother's first. She made no attempt to soften the shock I suffered by breaking her news to me gradually.

"Lalage appears to have excelled herself in her latest escapade. I only heard about it this morning and have not had time to verify the details of the story; but I think it better to write to you at once in case you should hear an exaggerated version from some one else."

My mother is very thoughtful and kind; but in this particular case, needlessly so. I was not in the least likely to hear an exaggerated version of Lalage's performance from any source; because no one in the world, not even a politician, could exaggerate the truth about the Anti-Tommy-Rot Gazette.

My mother went on:

"You appear to be mixed up in the affair, and, on the whole, I advise you to get out of it at once if you can. Your uncle, who takes these matters very seriously, is greatly annoyed. Lalage appears to have published something, a pamphlet probably, but report says variously a book, a magazine, and a newspaper. I have not seen a copy myself, though I telegraphed to Dublin for one as soon as the news of its publication reached me. Your uncle, who heard about it at the club, says it is scurrilous. He sent out for a copy, but was informed by the news agent that the whole issue was sold out. The Archdeacon was the first to tell me about it. He had been in Dublin attending a meeting of the Church Representative Body and he says that the general opinion there is that it is blasphemous. Even the Canon is a good deal upset and has gone away for a holiday to the north of Scotland. I had a postcard from him to-day with a picture of the town hall at Wick on the back of it. He wrote nothing except the words, 'Virtute mea me unvolvo.' I have Latin enough to guess that this—is it a quotation from his favourite Horace?—is a description of his own attitude toward Lalage's performance. Miss Pettigrew, who is greatly interested, and I think on the whole sympathetic with Lalage, writes that eighteen bishops have already begun actions for libel, and that three more are expected to do so as soon as they recover from fits of nervous prostration brought on by Lalage's attacks on them. A postscript to her letter gets nearer than anything else I have come across to giving a coherent account of what has actually taken place. 'Lalage,' she writes, 'has shown a positively diabolical ingenuity in picking out for the pillory all the most characteristically episcopal utterances for the last two years.' You will understand better than I do what this means."

I did understand what Miss Pettigrew meant, but I do not think that Lalage ought to be given: the whole credit. Selby-Harrison did the research.

My mother went on:

"Father Maconchy, the P.P., stopped me on the road this afternoon to say that he hoped there was no truth in the report that you are mixed up in what he calls a disgraceful attempt at proselytizing. The Archdeacon tells me that in ecclesiastical circles (his, not Father Maconchy's, ecclesiastical circles) you are credited with having urged Lalage on, and says he fears your reputation will suffer."

I put the letter down at this point and swore. Extreme stupidity always makes me swear. It is almost the only thing in the world which does. The Archdeacon, who has been acquainted with Lalage since her birth, ought to have more sense than to suppose, or allow any one else to suppose, that she ever required urging on. Even Father Maconchy's reading of the situation was intelligent compared to that.

"Miss Pettigrew says that the Trinity College authorities have taken the matter up and are strongly of opinion that you are financing the publication. Thormanby tells me that the same rumour is current in the club. He heard it from five or six different men, and says he has been written to about the matter since he came home by people who are most anxious about your connection with it. I do not know what to believe, and I do not want to press my opinion on you, but if, without making things worse for Lalage than they are at present, you can disclaim responsibility for the publication, whatever it is, it will probably be wise for you to do so."

It did not seem to me to matter, after reading what my mother said, which of the other letters I took next. I tried one of the two which bore typewritten addresses, in the hope that it might be nothing worse than a bill. It was, as a matter of fact, a statement of accounts. The first sheet ran thus:

Anti-Tommy-Rot Gazette Guarantee Fund Trinity College, Dublin, No. 175, and at the rooms of the Elizabethan Society

Debtor and Creditor Account To 8 per cent, due on one third of L80, being amount of guarantee for one month as per agreement signed August 9th, ult., equals 1s. 4d. (say, one shilling and fourpence). Examined and found correct

J. Selby-Harrison.

Stamps (1s. 4d.) enclosed to balance account. Please acknowledge receipt.

It is very gratifying to a guarantor to receive interest on his promise in this prompt and business-like way, but I am not sure that 8 per cent, will be sufficient to compensate me for the trouble I shall have in explaining my position to the Board of Trinity College, the Representative Body of the Church of Ireland, the Standing Committee of the Roman Catholic Hierarchy, the Presbyterian General Assembly, and the committee of the Kildare Street Club. The next sheet of Selby-Harrison's accounts was equally business-like in form.

Anti-Tommy-Rot Gazette Guarantee Fund Trinity College, Dublin, No. 175, and at the rooms of the Elizabethan Society Per Contra.

By one third of L30, being amount of guarantee for one month as per agreement signed August 9th, ult., L10, less payment by advertiser for single insertion, being one twelfth of 75. 9d.f contract price for year, 7.75 pence equals L9-19-4.25 (say nine pounds nineteen shillings and fourpence farthing) now due by guarantor. Examined and found correct Kindly remit at once to avoid legal proceedings.

J. Selby-Harrison.

The last thing in the world I wanted was further legal proceedings. With eighteen libel actions pending and three more threatened in the near future, the Irish courts would be kept busy enough without being forced to deal with a writ issued by Selby-Harrison against me. I sat down at once and remitted, making out my cheque for the round sum of L10, and telling Selby-Harrison that he could set the extra 7.75 pence against postage and petty cash. I pointed out at the same time that the advertiser, considering the unexpectedly wide publicity which had been given to his desire for second-hand feather beds, had got off ridiculously cheap. I suggested that he might, if approached, agree to pay the extra.25 of a penny.

I turned over the other three envelopes and chose for my next experiment one addressed in a delicate female hand. It seemed to me scarcely possible that letters formed as these were could convey sentiments of any but a fragrant kind. I turned out to be mistaken. This letter was more pitiless even than Selby-Harrison's stark mathematical statements.

"Owing to the incessant worry and annoyance of the last three days I am prostrate with a bad attack of my old enemy and am obliged to dictate this letter."

The signature, written with evident pain, told me that the dictator was my Uncle Thormanby. The "old enemy" was, as I knew, gout.

"Miss Battersby is acting as my amanuensis."

For the fifth or sixth time in my life I felt sorry for Miss Battersby.

"Canon Beresford's girl has libelled eighty or ninety bishops in the most outrageous way. I am not sure of the law, but I sincerely hope that it may be found possible to send her to gaol with hard labour for a term of years. Not that I care what she says about bishops. They probably deserve all they get and in any case it's no business of mine. What annoys me is that she has mixed you up in the scandal. Old Tollerton was sniggering about the club in the most disgusting way the day before yesterday, and telling every one that you were financing the minx. He says he has it on the best authority.

"I found a letter waiting for me when I came home from the secretary of the Conservative and Unionist Parliamentary Association, asking me if the rumour was true. I had just arranged with them to put you up for the East Connor division of Down at the general election and everything was looking rosy. Then this confounded stinkpot of a bombshell burst in our midst. That outrageous brat of Beresford's ought to be soundly whipped. I always said so and it turns out now that I was perfectly right.

"I need scarcely tell you that if your name is connected with these libel actions in any way your chance of election won't be worth two pence. The Nationalist blackguards would make the most of it, of course, and I don't see how our people could defend you without bringing the parsons and Presbyterian ministers out like wasps.

"I have authoritatively denied that you have, or ever had, any connection with or knowledge of the scurrilous print; so I beg that you will at once withdraw the guarantee which I understand you have given. If you don't do this my position, as well as your own, will be infernally awkward. I wanted to get a hold of Beresford to-day, but hear that he has gone to Iceland. Just like him I I thought I might have bullied him into taking the responsibility and clearing you. The Archdeacon won't. I tried him. Tollerton, who insisted on sitting next me at luncheon in the club, says that you may be able to hush the thing up by offering to build a new church for each of the bishops named. This would cost thousands and cripple you for the rest of your life, so we won't make any overtures in that direction till everything else fails. Tollerton always makes the worst of everything. They say he has Bright's disease. I shan't be sorry when he's gone; but if I have to go through much more worry of this kind it's likely enough that he'll see me out."

With this letter was enclosed a small slip of paper bearing a message which appeared to have been very hurriedly written.

"Please do not be too angry with Lalage. I'm sure she did not mean any harm. She is a very high-spirited girl, but most affectionate. I'm so sorry about it all especially for your poor mother.

"Amelie Battersby."

Miss Battersby need not have made her appeal. Even if I had been very angry with Lalage my uncle's letter would have softened my heart toward her. She deserved well and not ill of me. The decision of the Conservative and Unionist Parliamentary Association came on me as a shock. I had no idea that my uncle was negotiating with them on my behalf. If Lalage's Gazette disgusted them with me and made it obvious that I could not succeed as a candidate in the East Connor Division of County Down I should be greatly pleased, and my ten pounds, or whatever larger sum might be required to pacify the fiercest of the bishops, would be very well spent.

I opened the Archdeacon's letter next. It was, with the exception of Selby-Harrison's, the shortest of the whole batch.

"I write, not in anger but in sorrow. Lalage, whom I can only think of as a dear but misguided child, has been led away by the influence of undesirable companions into a grievous mistake. I shrink from applying' a severer word. As a man of the world I cannot shut my eyes to the fact that the money, the considerable sum of money, which you have placed at the disposal of these young people has proved a temptation, not to Lalage, but to those with whom she has unfortunately associated herself. In the event of your deciding, as I strongly urge you to do, to withdraw your financial guarantee, these unscrupulous persons, seeing no prospect of further profit, will no doubt cease to lead Lalage astray."

The idea in the Archdeacon's mind evidently was that Selby-Harrison and Hilda had exploited Lalage, and obtained the money for unhallowed revellings, from me. I should like to hear Hilda's mother's opinion of the Archdeacon's view. Its injustice was of course quite evident to me. I had Selby-Harrison's accounts before me, and nothing could be clearer than they were. Besides I knew from my mother's letter that what the Archdeacon now said about Selby-Harrison and Hilda he had originally said about me. When the truth, the whole truth, about the publication of the Anti-Tommy-Rot Gazette is published, it will be recognized that Selby-Harrison, Hilda, and I, so far from urging Lalage on or leading her astray, were from first to last little more than tools for her use, clay in her potter's hands.

My fifth letter turned out to be from the Provost of Trinity College. It was written in very courteous terms and was, on the whole, the most encouraging I had yet read.

He wrote:

"You must forgive my meddling in your affairs, and accept the fact that I am, in some sense, an old family friend, as my excuse for offering you a word of advice. I knew your father before you were born, and as a young man I often dined at your grandfather's table. This gives me a kind of right to make a suggestion which I have no doubt you will take in good part. Three young people, who as students in this college are more or less under my charge, have got into a scrape which might very well be serious but which, I hope, will turn out in the end to be merely ridiculous. They have printed and published a small magazine in which no less than twenty-one of the Irish bishops are fiercely attacked.

"It is only fair to say that they have been actuated by no sectarian spirit. They are equally severe on Protestant and Roman Catholic ecclesiastics. The publication was at once brought under my notice, and I could do nothing else but send for the delinquents. Nothing could have been more praiseworthy than their candour. They gave me an account of the purpose of their society—they have formed a society—which showed that their objects were not in any way vicious, although the means they adopted for furthering them were highly culpable. I spoke to them strongly, very strongly indeed, and I trust made some impression on them. At the same time I must confess that one of them, Miss Lalage Beresford, displayed the greatest determination and absolutely declined to give me a promise that the publication of the magazine would be discontinued, except on conditions which I could not possibly consider. You will recognize at once that for Miss Lalage's own sake, as well as for the sake of college discipline, I cannot have any further publication of the Anti-Tommy-Rot Gazette.

"At the same time I am unwilling to proceed to extremities against her or either of the others. They are all young and will learn sense in due time. It occurs to me that perhaps the simplest way out of the difficulty will be for you to withdraw the guarantee of financial assistance which, as I understand, you have given. If you are prepared to support me in this way I may safely promise that no further notice of the absurd publication will be taken by the college authorities. There are rumours of libel actions pending, but I think we may disregard them. No damages can be obtained from you beyond the amount of your original guarantee, which, I understand, did not amount to more than L30. All the other defendants are minors, dependent entirely on their parents for their support, so the aggrieved parties will probably not proceed far with their action. If you agree to stop supplies and so prevent the possibility of further publication, I shall use my influence to have the whole affair hushed up."

There remained only the fifth letter; the second of those which bore a typewritten address. I opened it and found that it came from Lalage. She wrote:

"We have only been able, to hire this typewriter for one week so I'm practising hard at it. That is why I'm typing this letter. Please excuse mistakes."

There were a good many mistakes but I excused them.

"Your copy of the Anti-Tommy-Rot Gazette went to you first thing. Hilda nearly forgot to post it, but didn't quite, which was lucky, for all the rest were seized from us, except nine, which Selby-Harrison gave to a news agent, who sold them but didn't pay us, though he may yet. Hard Luck, I call that. Don't you? Some ass sent a copy, marked, to the Prov. and the next thing we knew was that both offices were raided by college porters and our property stolen by force. We were furious, but before we could take any action—we were going to consult a lawyer, a K.C., whose son happens to be a friend of Selby-Harrison's on account of being captain of Trinity 3rd A (hockey), in which Selby-Harrison plays halfback—our doom was upon us and Selby-Harrison was sent for by the Prov. He came back shattered, like that telescope man who got caught by the Inquisition, having spent hours on the rack and nearly had his face eaten off as well. Our turn came next. We (Hilda and I) had just time to dart off on top of a tram to Trinity Hall (that's where we have our rooms), you know, of course, and jump into our best frocks before 1 P.M., the hour of our summons to the august presence. Hilda's is a tussore silk, frightfully sweet, and I had a blouse with a lot of Carrickmacross lace on it.

"Hilda was in a pea-blue funk when it came to the moment and kept pulling at her left glove until she tore the button off. I was a bit jellyfishy myself down the back; but I needn't have been. The minute I got into the room I could see that the old Prov. was a perfect pet and didn't really mean anything, though he tried to look as if he did."

I have always disliked the modern system of co-education and after reading Lalage's letter I was strongly inclined to agree with the bishop who wants to stamp it out, beginning with the infant schools. I do not agree with his reasoning. My objection—it applies particularly to the admission of grown-up young women to universities—is that even-handed justice is never administered. The girls get off cheap. Some day, perhaps, we shall have a lady presiding as provost over one of our great universities. Then the inequalities of our present arrangements will be balanced by others. The Lalages and Hildas of those days will spend hours upon the rack. If they are fools enough to jump into tussore frocks and blouses with Carrickmacross lace on them before being admitted to the august presence, they will have their faces eaten off as well. On the other hand, the Selby-Harrisons, if reasonably good-looking young men, will find the Prov. a perfect pet, who doesn't really mean anything; who, perhaps, will not even try to look as if she does.

"He jawed a lot, of course, but we did not mind that a bit; at least I didn't, for I knew he only did it because he had to. In the end he asked us to promise not to annoy bishops any more. Hilda promised. Rather base of her, I call it; but by that time she had dragged the second button off her glove and would have promised simply anything. I stuck on and said I wouldn't. He seemed a bit put out, and he'd been such a dear about the whole thing that I hated having to refuse him. You know the sort of way you feel when somebody, that you want frightfully to do things for, will clamour on for what you know is wrong. That's the way I was and at last I couldn't stand it any more, so I said I'd promise on condition that the bishops all undertook not to say any more silly things except in church. That was as far as I could well go and I thought the Prov. would have jumped at the offer. Instead of which he first scowled in a very peculiar way and then his face all wrinkled up and got quite red so that I thought he was going to get some kind of fit. Without saying another word he in a sort of way hustled us out of the room. That was the only really rude thing he did to us; but Selby-Harrison sticks to it that he was perfectly awful to him. We don't quite know what will happen next, but both the other two think that we'd better not have the college porters arrested for stealing the magazines. I'd like to, but, of course, they are two to one. Selby-Harrison is looking like a sick turkey and is constantly sighing. He says he thinks he'll have to be a doctor now. He had meant to go into the Divinity School and be ordained but after what the Provost said to him he doesn't see how he can. Rather rough luck on him, having to fall back on the medical; but I don't think he'll mind much in the end, except that he doubts whether his father can afford the fees. That will be a difficulty, if true."

I wonder what the fees amount to. I am inclined to think that it is my duty to see Selby-Harrison through. I should not like to think of his whole career being wrecked. At the same time I am inclined to think that it would be waste to turn him into a doctor. He ought to make his mark as a chartered accountant if he gets a chance. I shall speak to my mother about him when I go home and see what she suggests.

"Hilda's mother has written saying that Hilda is not to spend next hols with me; which was all arranged before the fuss began. I can't see what objection she can possibly have. Anyhow it is frightful tyranny and of course we don't mean to stand it. Selby-Harrison says that perhaps if you wrote to her she would give in; but I don't want you to do this. I hate crawling, especially to Hilda's mother and people like that, but if you like to do it you can. Selby-Harrison says that your mother being an honourable, will make a lot of difference, though I don't see what that has to do with me. Still if you think it will be any use there's no reason why you shouldn't mention it. Hilda has cried buckets full since the letter came."

I am sorry for Hilda but I shall not write to her mother. I have enough on my hands without that. Besides, as Lalage says, I do not see the connection between my mother's position in society and Hilda's mother's schemes for her daughter's holidays.

"P.S. I hope you got your 8 per cent, all right. I told Selby-Harrison to send it. We were all three stony at the time and had to borrow it from another girl who is going in for logic honours, but she's quite rich, so it doesn't matter. Hilda didn't want to, and said she'd give her two gold safety pins, which she got last Christmas, if Selby-Harrison would pawn them for her. But he wouldn't, and I thought it was hardly worth while for the sake of one and fourpence, besides making her mother more furious than ever. We ought not to have had to borrow more than fourpence, for Selby-Harrison had a shilling the night before, but went and spent it on having a Turkish bath. Rather a rotten thing to do, I think, when we owed it. But he said he'd forgotten about the 8 per cent, and had to have the Turkish bath on account of the way the Prov. talked to him. That was yesterday, of course, not to-day."

I was glad when I read this that I had made out my cheque for the whole ten pounds. Selby-Harrison will be in a position to pay the other girl back. She may be quite rich, but she will not like being done out of her money. The fact that she is going in for logic honours shows me that she has a precise kind of mind and a good deal of quiet determination. I should be surprised if she submitted meekly to the loss of one and fourpence.

"P.P.S. I always forget to tell you that Pussy (Miss Battersby) says she left a hat pin with a silver swallow on the end of it in that first hotel in Lisbon. Would you mind going in the next day you are passing and asking for it? I hate to bother you and I wouldn't, only that we don't any of us remember the name of the hotel and so can't write."

I rather shrank from asking that hotel keeper for a pin supposed to have been dropped in one of his bedrooms during the previous August. But Miss Battersby, at least, does not deserve to suffer. I spent a long afternoon going round the jewellers' shops in Lisbon and in the end secured a pin with two silver doves and a heart on it. I sent this to Miss Battersby and explained that it was the nearest thing to her original swallow which the hotel keeper had been able to find. She is, fortunately, quite an easy person to please. She wrote thanking me for the trouble I had taken.



CHAPTER IX

My friends were singularly successful in their negotiations on my behalf. Not a single bishop proceeded with his libel action against Lalage. Nor was I forced to buy any of them off by building even a small cathedral. I attribute our escape from their vengeance entirely to the Provost. His clear statement of the impossibility of obtaining damages by any legal process must have had its effect.

Gossip too died away with remarkable suddenness. I heard afterward that old Tollerton got rapidly worse and succumbed to his disease, whatever it was, very shortly after his last interview with my uncle. I have no doubt that his death had a good deal to do with the decay of public interest in the Anti-Tommy-Rot Gazette. The Archdeacon, who also was inclined to talk a good deal, had his mind distracted by other events. The bishop of our diocese had a paralytic stroke. He was not one of those whom Lalage libelled, so the blame for his misfortune cannot be laid on us. The Archdeacon was, in consequence, very fully occupied in the management of diocesan affairs and forgot all about the Gazette. Canon Beresford ventured back to his parish after a stay of six weeks in Wick. He would not have dared to return if there had been the slightest chance of the Archdeacon's reverting to the painful subject in conversation. Had there been even the slightest reference to it in the newspapers, Canon Beresford, instead of returning home, would have gone farther afield to an Orkney Island or the Shetland group, or, perhaps, to one of those called Faroe, which do not appear on ordinary maps but are believed by geographers to exist. Thus when my mother, in the course of one of her letters, mentioned casually that Canon Beresford had lunched with her, I knew, as Noah did when the dove no longer returned to him, that the flood had abated.

My uncle was also successful, too successful, in his effort. His definite denial of my connection with the Anti-Tommy-Rot Gazette obtained credence with the Committee of the Conservative and Unionist Parliamentary Association. My name retained its place on their books and they continued to put me forward as a candidate for the East Connor division of Down at the General Election.

I only found this fact out by degrees, for nobody seemed to think it worth while to tell me. My uncle said afterward that my ignorance, in which he found it very difficult to believe, was entirely my own fault. I cannot deny this: though I still hold that I ought to have been plainly informed of my destiny and not left to infer it from the figures in the accounts which were sent to me from time to time. When I went to Portugal I left my money affairs very much in the hands of my mother and my uncle. I had what I wanted. They spent what they thought right in the management of my estate, in subscriptions and so forth. The accounts which they sent me, very different indeed from the spirited statements of Selby-Harrison, bored me, and I did not realize for some time that I was subscribing handsomely to a large number of local objects in places of which I had never even heard the names. I now know that they are towns and villages in the East Connor division of Down, and my uncle has told me that this kind of expenditure is called nursing the constituency.

The first definite news of my candidature came to me, curiously enough, from Lalage. She wrote me a letter during the Christmas holidays:

"There was a party (flappers, with dancing and a sit-down supper, not a Christmas tree) at Thormanby Park last night. I got a bit fed up with 'the dear girls' (Cattersby's expression) at about nine o'clock and slipped off with Hilda in hope of a cigarette. (Hilda's mother's cook got scarlatina, so she had to give in about Hilda coming here for the hols after all. Rather a climb down for her, I should say.) It was jolly lucky we did, as it turned out, though we didn't succeed in getting the whiff. Lord Thormanby and the Archdeacon were in the smoking room, so we pretended we'd come to look for Hilda's pocket snuffler. The Archdeacon came to the party with a niece, in a green dress, who's over from London, and stiff with swank, though what about I don't know, for she can't play hockey a bit, has only read the most rotten books, and isn't much to look at, though the green dress is rather sweet, with a lace yoke and sequins on the skirt. Why didn't you tell me you were going into Parliament? I'm frightfully keen on elections and mean to go and help you. So does Hilda now that she knows about it, and I wrote to Selby-Harrison this morning. We've changed the name of the society to the Association for the Suppression of Public Lying (A.S.P.L.). Rather appropriate, isn't it, with a general election just coming on? Of course you're still a life member. The change of name isn't a constitutional alteration. Selby-Harrison made sure of that before we did it, so it doesn't break up the continuity, which is most important for us all. Lord Thormanby and the Archdeacon were jawing away like anything while we were searching about for the hanker, and took no notice of us, although the Archdeacon is frightfully polite now as a rule, quite different from what he used to be. They said the election was a soft thing for you unless somebody went and put up a third man. I rather hope they will, don't you? Dead certs are so rottenly unsporting. I'll have a meeting of the committee as soon as I get back to Dublin. This will be just the chance we want, for we haven't had any sort of a look in since they suppressed the Gazette."

I put this letter of Lalage's aside and did not answer it for some time. I thought that she and Hilda might have misunderstood what my uncle and the Archdeacon were saying. I did not regard it as possible that an important matter of the kind should be settled without my knowing anything about it; and I expected that Lalage would find out her mistake for herself. It turned out in the end that she had not made a mistake. Early in January I got three letters, all marked urgent. One was from my uncle, one from the secretary of the Conservative and Unionist Association and one from a Mr. Titherington, who seemed to be a person of some importance in the East Connor division of County Down. They all three told me the same news. I had been unanimously chosen by the local association as Conservative candidate at the forthcoming general election. They all insisted that I should go home at once. I did so, but before starting I answered Lalage's letter. I foresaw that the active assistance of the Association for the Suppression of Public Lying in the campaign before me might have very complicated results, and would almost certainly bring on worry. The local conservative association, for instance, might not care for Lalage. Hardly any local conservative association would. Mr. Titherington might not hit it off with Selby-Harrison, and I realized from the way he wrote, that Mr. Titherington was a man of strong character. I worded my letter to Lalage very carefully. I did not want to hurt her feelings by refusing an offer which was kindly meant.

I wrote,

"I need scarcely tell you, how gladly I should welcome the assistance offered by the A.S.P.L., if I had nothing but my own feelings to consider. Speeches from you and Hilda would brighten up what threatens to be a dull affair. Selby-Harrison's advice would be invaluable. But I cannot, in fairness to others, accept the offer unconditionally. Selby-Harrison's father ought to be consulted. He has already been put to great expense through his son's expulsion from the Divinity School, and I would not like, now that he has, I suppose, paid some, at least, of the fees for medical training, to put him to fresh expense by involving his son in an enterprise which may very well result in his being driven from the dissecting room. Then we must think of Hilda's mother. If she insisted on Miss Battersby accompanying her daughter to Portugal in the capacity of chaperon, she is almost certain to have prejudices against electioneering as a sport for young girls.

"Perhaps circumstances have altered since I last heard from you in such a way as to make the consultations I suggest unnecessary. Mr. Selby-Harrison senior and Hilda's mother may both have died, prematurely worn out by great anxiety. In that case I do not press for any consideration of their wishes. But if they still linger on I should particularly wish to obtain their approval before definitely accepting the offer of the A.S.P.L."

I thought that a good letter. It was possible that Mr. Selby-Harrison had died, but I felt sure, judging from what I had heard of her, that Hilda's mother was a woman of vigour and determination who would live as long as was humanly possible. I was not even slightly disquieted by a telegram handed to me just before I left Lisbon.

"Letter received. Scruples strictly respected. Other arrangements in contemplation.

"Lalage."

I forgot all about the Association for the Suppression of Public Lying and its offer of help when I arrived in Ireland. Mr. Titherington came up to Dublin to meet me and showed every sign of keeping me very busy indeed. He turned out to be a timber merchant by profession, who organized elections by way of recreation whenever opportunity offered. I was told in the office of the Conservative and Unionist Association that no man living was more crafty in electioneering than Mr. Titherington, and that I should do well to trust myself entirely to his guidance. I made up my mind to do so. My uncle who also met me in Dublin, had been making inquiries of his own about Mr. Titherington and gave me the results of them in series of phrases which, I felt sure, he had picked up from somebody else. "Titherington," he said, "has his finger on the pulse of the constituency." "There isn't a trick of the trade but Titherington is thoroughly up to it." "For taking the wind out of the sails of the other side Titherington is absolutely A1." All this confirmed me in my determination to follow Mr. Titherington, blindfold.

The first time I met him he told me that we were going to have a sharp contest and gave me the impression that he was greatly pleased. A third candidate had taken the field, a man in himself despicable, whose election was an impossibility; but capable perhaps of detaching from me a number of votes sufficient to put the Nationalist in the majority.

"And O'Donoghue, let me tell you," said Titherington, "is a smart man and a right good speaker."

"I'm not," I said.

"I can see that."

I do not profess to know how he saw it. So far as I know, inability to make speeches does not show on a man's face, and Titherington had no other means of judging at that time except the appearance of my face. No one in fact, not even my mother, could have been sure then that I was a bad speaker. I had never spoken at a public meeting.

"But," said Titherington, "we'll pull you through all right. That blackguard Vittie can't poll more than a couple of hundred."

"Vittie," I said "is, I suppose, the tertium quid, not the Nationalist. I'm sorry to trouble you with inquiries of this kind, but in case of accident it's better for me to know exactly who my opponents are."

"He calls himself a Liberal. He's going baldheaded for some temperance fad and is backed by a score or so of Presbyterian ministers. We'll have to call canny about temperance."

"If you want me to wear any kind of glass button on the lapel of my coat, I'll do it; but I'm not going to sign a total abstinence pledge. I'd rather not be elected."

Titherington was himself drinking whiskey and water while we talked. He grinned broadly and I felt reassured. We had dined together in my hotel, and Titherington had consumed the greater part of a bottle of champagne, a glass of port, and a liqueur with his coffee. It was after dinner that he demanded whiskey and water. It seemed unlikely that he would ask me even to wear a button.

"As we're on the subject of temperance," he said, "you may as well sign a couple of letters. I have them ready for you and I can post them as I go home to-night." He picked up a despatch box which he had brought with him and kept beside him during dinner. It gave me a shock to see the box opened. It actually overflowed with papers and I felt sure that they all concerned my election. Titherington tossed several bundles of them aside, and came at last upon a small parcel kept together by an elastic band.

"This," he said, handing me a long typewritten document, "is from the Amalgamated Association of Licensed Publicans. You needn't read it. It simply asks you to pledge yourself to oppose all legislation calculated to injure the trade. This is your answer."

He handed me another typewritten document.

"Shall I read it?" I asked.

"You needn't unless you like. All I require is your signature."

I have learned caution in the diplomatic service. I read my letter before signing it, although I intended to sign it whatever it might commit me to. I had promised my uncle and given the Conservative and Unionist Parliamentary Association to understand that I would place myself unreservedly in Titherington's hands.

"I see," I said, "that I pledge myself——"

"You give the Amalgamated Association to understand that you pledge yourself," said Titherington.

"The same thing, I suppose?"

"Not quite," said Titherington grinning again.

"Anyhow," I said, "it's the proper thing, the usual thing to do?"

"O'Donoghue has done it, and I expect that ruffian Vittie will have to in the end, little as he'll like it."

I signed.

"Here," said Titherington, "is the letter of the joint committee of the Temperance Societies."

"There appear to be twenty-three of them," I said, glancing at the signatures.

"There are; and if there were only ten voters in each it would be more than we could afford to lose. Vittie thinks he has them all safe in his breeches pocket, but I have a letter here which will put his hair out of curl for a while."

"I hate men with curly hair," I said. "It's so effeminate."

Titherington seemed to think this remark foolish, though I meant it as an additional evidence of my determination to oppose Vittie to the last.

"Read the letter," he said.

I read it. If such a thing had been physically possible it would have put my hair into curl. It did, I feel almost certain, make it rise up and stand on end.

"I see by this letter," I said, "that I am pledging myself to support some very radical temperance legislation."

"You're giving them to understand that you pledge yourself. There's a difference, as I told you before."

"I may find myself in rather an awkward position if——"

"You'll, be in a much awkwarder one if Vittie gets those votes and lets O'Donoghue in!"

Titherington spoke in such a determined tone that I signed the letter at once.

"Is there anything else?" I asked. "Now that I am pledging myself in this wholesale way there's no particular reason why I shouldn't go on."

Titherington shuffled his papers about.

"Most of the rest of them," he said, "are just the ordinary things. We needn't worry about them. There's only one other letter—ah! here it is. By the way, have you any opinions about woman's suffrage?"

"Not one," I said, "but I don't, of course, want to be ragged if it can be avoided. Shall I pledge myself to get votes for all the unmarried women in the constituency, or ought I to go further?"

Titherington looked at me severely. Then he said:

"It won't do us any harm if Vittie is made to smell hell by a few militant Suffragettes."

"After the hole he's put us in about temperance," I said, "he'll deserve the worst they can do to him."

"In any ordinary case I'd hesitate; for women are a nuisance, a d——d nuisance. But this is going to be such an infernally near thing that I'm half inclined—— It's nuts and apples to them to get their knives into any one calling himself a Liberal, which shows they have some sense. Besides, the offer has, so to speak, dropped right into our mouths. It would be sinning against our mercies and flying in the face of Providence not to consider it."

I had, up to that moment, no reason for suspecting Titherington of any exaggerated respect for Providence. But there are queer veins of religious feeling in the most hard-headed men. I saw that Titherington had a theological side to his character and I respected him all the more for it.

"Here's a letter," he said, "from one of the suffrage societies, offering to send down speakers to help us. As I said before, women are a nuisance, but it's just possible that there may be a few cranks among that temperance lot. You'll notice that if a man has one fad he generally runs to a dozen, and there may be a few who really want women to get votes. We can't afford to chuck away any chances. If I could get deputations from the Anti-Vaccinationists and the Anti-Gamblers I would. But I'd be afraid of their going back on us and supporting Vittie. Anyhow, if these women are the right sort they'll pursue Vittie round and round the constituency and yell at him every time he opens his mouth."

I took the letter from Titherington. It was headed A.S.P.L. and signed Lalage Beresford.

"Are you quite sure," I said, "that the A.S.P.L. is a woman's suffrage society?"

"It must be," said Titherington. "The letter's signed by a woman, at least I suppose Lalage is a woman's name. It certainly isn't a man's."

"Still——"

"And what the devil would women be writing to us for if they weren't Suffragettes?"

"But A.S.P.L. doesn't stand for——"

"It must," said Titherington. "S stands for Suffrage, doesn't it? The rest is some fancy conglomeration. I tell you that there are so many of these societies nowadays that it's pretty hard for a new one to find a name at all."

"All the same——"

"There's no use arguing about their name. The question we have to decide is whether it's worth our while importing Suffragettes into the constituency or not."

If Titherington had not interrupted me so often and if he had not displayed such complete self-confidence I should have told him what the A.S.P.L. really was and warned him to be very careful about enlisting Lalage's aid. But I was nettled by his manner and felt that it would be very good for him to find out his mistake for himself. I remained silent.

"I think the best thing I can do," he said, "is to interview the lady. I can judge then whether she's likely to be any use to us."

I felt very pleased to think that Titherington would learn his mistake from Lalage herself. He will be much less arrogant afterward.

"If she is simply an old frump with a bee in her bonnet," he said, "who wants to bore people, I'll head her off at once. If she's a sporting sort of girl who'll take on Vittie at his own meetings and make things hum generally, I think I'll engage her and her lot. I don't happen to be a magistrate myself, but most of them are your supporters. There won't be a bit of use his trying to have her up for rioting. We'll simply laugh at him and she'll be worse afterward. Let me see now. She's in Dublin. 'Trinity Hall,' whatever that is. If I write to-night she'll get the letter in the morning. Suppose I say 11 a.m."

"I should rather like to be present at the interview," I said.

"You needn't trouble yourself. I sha'n't commit you to anything and the whole thing will be verbal. There won't be a scrap of paper for her to show afterward, even if she turns nasty."

It seemed to me likely that there would be paper to show afterward. If Lalage has Selby-Harrison behind her she will go to that interview with an agreement in her pocket ready for signature.

"All the same," I said, "I'd like to be there simply out of curiosity."

Titherington shrugged his shoulders.

"Very well," he said, "but let me do the talking. I don't want you to get yourself tied up in some impossible knot. You'd far better leave it to me."

I assured him that I did not in the least want to talk, but I persisted in my determination to be present at the interview. Titherington had bullied me enough for one evening and my promise to put myself entirely in his hands was never meant to extend to the limiting of my intercourse with Lalage. Besides, I enjoyed the prospect of seeing him tied up in some impossible knot, and I believed that Lalage was just the girl to tie him.



CHAPTER X

Titherington had a room, temporarily set apart for his use as an office, in the house of the Conservative and Unionist Parliamentary Association. Here he was at liberty to spread about on a large table all the papers he carried in his despatch box and many others. The profusion was most impressive, and would, I am sure, have struck a chill into the soul of Vittie had he seen it. Here were composed and written the letters which I afterward signed, wonderful letters, which like the witches in Macbeth "paltered in a double sense." Here Titherington entered into agreements with bill printers and poster artists, for my election was to be conducted on the best possible system with all the modern improvements, an object lesson to the rest of Ireland. Here also the interview with Lalage took place. The room was a great convenience to us. Our proper headquarters were, of course, in Ballygore, the principal town in the East Connor division of Down. But a great deal of business had to be done in Dublin and we could hardly have got on without an office.

I walked into this room a few minutes before eleven on the morning after I had entertained Titherington in my hotel.

"The lady hasn't arrived yet," I said.

"She's gone," said Titherington. "She was here at half-past eight o'clock."

I noticed that Titherington spoke in a subdued way and that his eyes had a furtive expression I had never seen in them before. I felt encouraged to give expression to the annoyance which I felt. I told Titherington plainly that I thought he ought not to have changed the hour of the interview without telling me. It seemed to me that he had played me a mean trick and I resented it. Greatly to my surprise Titherington apologized meekly.

"It wasn't my fault," he said, "and I hadn't time to communicate with you. I only got this at twenty minutes past eight and had no more than time to get here myself."

He handed me a telegram.

"Eleven quite impossible. Say 8.30. Jun. Soph. Ord. begins at 9.30. Lalage Beresford."

"I was just sitting down to breakfast," said Titherington, "and I had to get up without swallowing so much as a cup of tea and hop on to a car. She's a tremendously prompt young woman."

"She is," I said, "and always was."

"You know her then?"

"I've known her slightly since she was quite a little girl."

"Why didn't you tell me so last night?"

"I tried to," I said, "but you kept on interrupting me, so I gave up."

Titherington's conscience may have pricked him. He was certainly in a chastened mood, but he showed no sign of wishing to make any further apologies. On the contrary he began to recover something of his habitual self-assertiveness.

"If you know her," he said, "perhaps you can tell me what a Jun. Soph. Ord. is?"

"No, I can't. She was always, even as a child, fond of using contractions. I remember her writing to me about a 'comp.' and she habitually used 'hols' and 'rec.' for holidays and recreation."

"It sounds to me," said Titherington, "like a police court."

"You don't mean to say that you think she's been arrested for anything?"

"I hope so."

"Why?" I asked. "Was she too much for you this morning?"

Titherington ignored the second question.

"I hope so," he said, "because if she's the sort of girl who gets arrested, she'll be most useful to us. She was quite on for annoying Vittie. She says she's been looking up his speeches and that he's one of the worst liars she ever came across. She's quite right there."

"I wish," I said, "that you'd go and bail her out. Her father's a clergyman and it will be a horrible thing if there's any public scandal."

"I hinted at that as delicately as I could. I didn't actually mention bail, because I wasn't quite sure that a Jun. Soph. Ord. mightn't be something in the Probate and Divorce Court. She simply laughed at me and said she didn't want any help. She told me that she and Hilda, whoever Hilda is, are sure to be all right, because the Puffin is always a lamb—I suppose the Puffin is some name they have for the magistrate—but that a Miss Harrison would probably be stuck."

"She can't have said Miss Harrison."

"No. She said Selly, or Selby-Harrison, short for Selina I thought."

"As a matter of fact, Selby-Harrison—it's a hyphenated surname—is a man."

"Oh, is it?" said Titherington, using the neuter pronoun because, I suppose, he was still uncertain about Selby-Harrison's sex.

"I wish," I said, "that I knew exactly what they've done."

"It doesn't in the least matter to us. So long as she's the kind of young woman who does something we shall be satisfied."

"Oh, she's that."

"So I saw. And she's an uncommonly good-looking girl. The crowd will be all on her side when she starts breaking up Vittie's meetings."

"You accepted her offer of help then?"

"Certainly," said Titherington. "She's to speak at a meeting of yours on the twenty-first."

Titherington was by this time talking with all his usual buoyant confidence, but I still caught the furtive look in his eyes which I had noticed at first. He seemed to me to have something to conceal, to be challenging criticism and to be preparing to defend himself. Now a man who is on the defensive and who wants to conceal something has generally acted in a way of which he is ashamed. I felt encouraged.

"You didn't commit me in any way, I hope," I said.

"Certainly not. I didn't have to. She was as keen as nuts on helping us and didn't ask a single question about your views on the suffrage question. I needn't say I didn't introduce the subject."

"You didn't sign anything, I suppose?"

Titherington became visibly embarrassed. He hesitated.

"I rather expected you'd have to," I said.

"It wasn't anything of the slightest importance."

"Selby-Harrison drew it up, I expect."

"So she said. But it didn't matter in the least. If it had been anything that tied us down I shouldn't have signed it."

"You would," I said. "Whatever it was you'd have signed it."

"She rather rushed me. She's a most remarkable young woman. However that's all the better for us. If she's capable of rushing me," Titherington's chest swelled again as he spoke, "she'll simply make hay of Vittie. It would be worth going to hear her heckling that beast on votes for women. Believe me, he won't like it."

"She had you at a disadvantage," I said. "You hadn't breakfasted."

Titherington became suddenly thoughtful.

"I wish I knew more about ordinary law," he said. "I'm all right on Corrupt Practices and that kind of thing, but I don't know the phraseology outside of electioneering. Do you think a Jun. Soph. Ord. can be any process in a libel action?"

"It might be. Why do you ask?"

"Well, the paper I signed was a sort of agreement to indemnify them in case of proceedings for libel. I signed because I didn't think a girl like that would be likely to say anything which Vittie would regard as a libel. He's a thick-skinned hound."

"She once libelled twenty-three bishops, she and Hilda and Selby-Harrison between them."

"After all," said Titherington, "you can say pretty near anything you like at an election. Nobody minds. I think we're pretty safe. I'll see that anything she says at our meetings is kept out of the papers, and she won't get the chance of making regular speeches at Vittie's."

I felt quite sorry for Titherington. The interview with Lalage had evidently been even more drastic than I expected.

"Perhaps," I said soothingly, "they'll give her six weeks for the Jun. Soph. Ord., whatever it is, and then the whole election will be over before she gets out."

"We can't allow that," said Titherington. "It would be a downright scandal to subject a girl like that—why, she's quite young and—and actually beautiful."

"We must hope that the Puffin may prove, as she expects, to be a disguised lamb."

"I wish I knew who he is. I might get at him."

"It's too late to do anything now," I said, "but I'll try and find out in the course of the morning. If I can't, we'll get it all in the evening papers. They're sure to report a case of the sort pretty fully."

I left Titherington and walked across toward the club. I met the Archdeacon in St. Stephen's Green. I might, and under ordinary circumstances I should, have slipped past him without stopping, for I do not think he saw me. But I was anxious about Lalage and I thought it likely that he would have some news of her. I hailed him and shook hands warmly.

"Up for a holiday?" I asked.

"No," said the Archdeacon. "I have eight meetings to attend to-day."

"I mustn't keep you then. How is everybody at home? Canon Beresford and Lalage quite well?"

"I saw Lalage Beresford this morning. I was passing through college on my way to one of my meetings and I saw her standing outside the big hall. She's in her first junior sophister examination to-day."

"Ord?" I said.

"What?"

"Ord?" I repeated. "You said Jun. Soph., didn't you?"

"I said junior sophister."

"Quite so, and it would be Ord., wouldn't it?"

"It's an ordinary, if that's what you mean."

"An ordinary," I said, "is, I suppose, an examination of a commonplace kind."

"It's one that you must get through, not an honour examination."

"I'm so glad I met you. You've relieved my mind immensely. I was afraid it might be an indictable offence. Without your help I should never have guessed!"

The Archdeacon looked at me suspiciously.

"I hope she'll pass," he said, "but I'm rather doubtful."

"Oh, she'll pass all right, she and Hilda. Selby-Harrison may possibly be stuck."

"She's very weak in astronomy."

"Still," I said, "the Puffin is a perfect lamb. I think we may count on that."

The Archdeacon eyed me even more suspiciously than before. I could see that he thought I had been drinking heavily.

"Titherington told me that about the Puffin," I said. "He wanted to bail her out. He'll be just as glad as I am when he hears the truth."

The Archdeacon held out his hand stiffly. I do not blame him in the least for wanting to get away from me. A church dignitary has to consider appearances, and it does not do to stand talking to an intoxicated man in a public street, especially early in the day.

"I think we may take it for granted," I said, "that the Puffin is the man who sets the paper in astronomy."

The Archdeacon left me abruptly, without shaking hands. I lit a cigarette and thought with pleasure of the careful and sympathetic way in which he would break the sad news of my failing to Lord Thormanby. When I reached the club I despatched four telegrams. The first was to Titherington.

"No further cause for anxiety. Jun. Soph. Ord. not a crime but a college examination. The Puffin probably the Astronomer Royal, but some uncertainty prevails on this point. Shall see lady this afternoon and complete arrangements."

I knew that the last sentence would annoy Titherington. I put it in for that purpose. Titherington had wantonly annoyed me.

My other three telegrams were all to Lalage. I addressed one to the rooms of the Elizabethan Society, one to 175 Trinity College, which was, I recollected, the alternative address of the Anti-Tommy Rot Gazette, and one to Trinity Hall, where Lalage resided. In this way I hoped to make sure of catching her. I invited her, Hilda, and Selby-Harrison to take tea with me at five o'clock in my hotel. I supposed that by that time the Jun. Soph. Ord. would have run its course. I wished to emphasize the fact that I wanted Lalage to bring Selby-Harrison, whom I had never seen. I underlined his name; but the hall porter to whom I gave the telegram told me that the post-office regulations do not allow the underlining of words. If Titherington succeeds in making me a Member of Parliament, I shall ask the Postmaster-General some nasty questions on this point. It seems to me a vexatious limitation of the rights of the public.



CHAPTER XI

I had luncheon in the club and then, without waiting even for a cup of coffee and a cigarette, went back to my hotel. I felt that I must make the most perfect possible arrangements for my tea party. The violence of my invitations would naturally raise Lalage's expectations to the highest pitch. I sent for the head waiter, who had struck me as an able and intelligent man.

"I am expecting some ladies this afternoon," I said, "and I shall have tea in my sitting room at five o'clock. I want everything to be as nice as possible, fresh flowers and that kind of thing."

The man nodded sympathetically and gave me the impression that long practice had familiarized him with the procedure of tea parties for ladies.

"These ladies are young," I said, "quite young, and so the cakes must be of the most sumptuous possible kind, not ordinary slices cut off large cakes, but small creations, each complete in itself and wrapped in a little paper frill. Do you understand what I mean?"

He said he did, thoroughly.

"I need scarcely say," I added, "that many if not all of the cakes must be coated with sugar. Some ought to be filled with whipped cream. The others should contain or be contained by almond icing."

The head waiter asked for information about the size of the party.

"There are only two ladies," I said, "but they are bringing a young man with them. We may, as he is not here, describe him as a boy. Therefore there must be a large number of cakes, say four dozen."

The head waiter's eyebrows went up slightly. It was the first sign of emotion he had shown.

"I sha'n't eat more than two myself," I said, "so four dozen ought to be enough. I also want ices, twelve ices."

This time the head waiter gasped. It was a cold, a remarkably cold, day, with an east wind and a feeling in the air as if snow was imminent.

"You mustn't understand from that," I said, "that the fire is to be allowed to go out. Quite the contrary. I want a particularly good fire. When the others are eating ices I shall feel the need of it."

The head waiter asked if I had a preference for any particular kind of ice.

"Strawberry," I said, "vanilla, and coffee. Three of each, and three neapolitan. That will make up the dozen. I shall want a whole box of wafers. The ices can be brought in after tea, say at twenty minutes past five. It wouldn't do to have them melting while we were at the cakes, and I insist on a good fire."

The head waiter recapitulated my orders to make sure that he had got them right and then left me.

At twenty minutes to five Lalage and Hilda arrived. They looked very hot, which pleased me. I had been feeling a little nervous about the ices. They explained breathlessly that they were sorry for being late. I reassured them.

"So far from being late," I said "you're twenty minutes too early. I'm delighted to see you, but it's only twenty minutes to five."

"There now, Hilda," said Lalage, "I told you that your old chronometer had most likely darted on again. I should have had lots and lots of time to do my hair. Hilda's watch," she explained to me, "was left to her in her grandmother's will, so of course it goes too fast. It often gains as much as two hours in the course of the morning."

"I wonder you trust it," I said.

"We don't. When we got your first 'gram in the Elizabethan we looked at the clock and saw that we had heaps of time. When your second came—Selby-Harrison sent it over from number 175—we began to think that Hilda's watch might be right after all and that the college clock had stopped. We went back ventre a terre on the top of a tram to Trinity Hall and found your third 'gram waiting for us. That made us dead certain that we were late. So we slung on any rags that came handy and simply flew. We didn't even stay to hook up Hilda's back. I jabbed three pins into it in the train."