20

CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL.

The panting
Now and then there was a gurgling wash of
water, as a heavy sea was shipped.
engines toiled on, fighting, as with a living foe.
It was no easy matter to distinguish between salt
A fierce fight went
sea-scud and driving rain.

on.

The fight was

on one side sustained by

of the apparatus was demonstrated at the Paris Mr Electrical Exhibition in a very curious way. Elisha Gray, the well-known inventor of the Harmonic Telegraph, was a little sceptical of the performances of the balance; and desiring to test it, he told Professor Hughes that for thirty years a small spark of iron had lodged in one of his fingers and could still be felt there like a pinhead. Could Professor Hughes tell him which finger wolfish waves and harrying wind; and on the it was in? One after another the fingers of the other, by skill and patient bravery, and the injured hand were put into the balance; and regular steady stroke of the steam-piston, like For hours, as the vessel when the 'game' one was inserted, the telephone the measured beat of a giant's mighty heart, A to force the Cyprus on. proclaimed the fact in unmistakable tones. similar arrangement of the balance has also been heeled over perilously before the threatening as the billows reared their menacing applied by Captain M'Evoy to the detection of gale, or submarine torpedoes, and sunken chains, anchors, heads, like watery mountains, to deluge the or buoys. In this there is a movable part of steamer's deck with a rush of foaming brine, the balance which is lowered into the water; and it seemed doubtful whether the balance would when it comes in contact with the submerged incline to life or death. Among the passengers metal case of the torpedo, or any other metal mass, below there was anxiety and alarm. Even the the telephone in the observer's hand immediately hardy old captain half despaired of saving the indicates the fact. Such are a few of the curi- ship. Any accident, such as in quiet times goes for nothing, such as the snapping of a rudderosities of the useful and delicate telephone. chain, the starting of a boiler-plate, must have been fatal.

ONE FALSE, BOTH FAIR;
OR, A HARD KNOT.

CHAPTER II.-COUNTESS DE LALOUVE.

'BATTEN down the hatches, quick, men! Helm
hard down! quartermaster, d'ye hear? Steady,
steady, there, forward! Stations, all of you, and
look alive!-Mr MacGregor, get that sail in
before it's blown from the bolt-ropes.-Mr Dodd,
a leewheel to the helm, before the sea swamps us.
-Bear a hand! Steady, so!' As the captain of
the Cyprus shouted these orders hoarsely through
his battered trumpet, his voice was all but
drowned by the shrill shriek of the furious wind
as it rushed through the strained rigging, and
the ship reeled and quivered like a thing in
pain. A gale had come on, and worse than a
gale, for it was a white-squall. Old seamen,
to whom the rounding of Cape Horn is a fami-
liar task, and who are inured to cyclone and
hurricane, yet speak with a semi-superstitious
respect of the terrible white-squall of the Mediter-

ranean.

There had been no warning. Like a thief in the night, the storm had burst upon the Cyprus without threat or signal of its approach; and the first intimation that Nature was in a passion was that the fine steamer was laid abruptly on her beam-ends in the tumbling tossing water. She righted, and fought her way ahead in the midst of fierce elemental war; but it was cruel work. Gone were the peaceful stars and the pure canopy of heaven and the drowsy ripple of the gentle waves. As if by magic, the scene had changed. The sky wore its ugliest frown. Rain and hail-no light sugar-plum hailstones of summer, but jagged bits of ice, heavy, three-sided lumps that cut and bruised-lashed the deck. The wind howled in menacing cadence through the rigging. The salt spray broke incessantly in drenching showers over the dripping bulwarks.

Fortunate was it in such weather that the packet was a fine new steamer, well found, and urged by powerful engines, and thus. could bear the brunt of the squall until its violence was somewhat Before the spent and the danger all but over. first gray, pinkish streaks broke in the eastern sky, there was an end of the torrents of rain which had deluged the deck. The shrieking wind had tuned down its storm-scream to a moan, though yet the sea ran high, and the vessel rolled heavily as she battled her way through the surges. The captain had gone below at last, leaving the care of the ship to the officer of the watch. Slowly and, as it were, reluctantly the cold The sea was still boisterous, the dawn came. complaining wind yet shrill, and a train of ragged clouds, like fugitives from some beaten army, appeared, flying past along the pale skyline. It was not a likely moment for a passenger to quit the warmth and comfort of the cabins below; nevertheless a solitary figure presently glided deck-on which it was no easy matter for any up the companion-stair and traversed the heaving but a sailor to walk-with some difficulty, but with a feline firmness and swiftness of tread like the soft but weighty footfall of a tigress. It was not, as has been said, a morning to invite the veriest admirer of Ocean to be early on deck, and such of the crew as, muffled in their monkey-jackets of rough Flushing or Guernsey cloth, bustled to and fro, looked with wonder at the foreign lady as she made her way to where, at the vessel's starboard side, a boat, slung amidships, offered shelter alike from keen wind and prying eyes. There she stopped, and with one gloved hand on the tough cordage of the nearest shroud, stood erect, in spite of the violent pitching of the steamer, as if waiting for something or for some one.

There are persons to be met with-not often indeed, some four or five times perhaps in a lifetime-who tower, morally or intellectually, above the heads of the easily-forgotten crowd, and whose hold upon the memory is quite disproportioned to their influence over our own private fortunes. Such a one was the lady who

Journal

was known to chief-cabin passengers on board
the Peninsular and Oriental packet Cyprus as
Countess Louise and as Madame de Lalouve.
See her now as she stands-with somewhat of
the grand composure of an Egyptian statue,
majestic in the solemn calm of untold centuries
of repose-and looks out over the wilderness
of waters. You might dislike her. Such as she
are often the objects of aversion. Very likely
you might distrust her. But it would be
impossible to consign her to the category of the
commonplace. The mention of a French Countess
is apt to conjure up visions of a mincing little
woman, elaborately attired, and as artificial in
her bloom as in her manners. But Madame
de Lalouve was tall and stately, handsome
withal, not young, certainly, but with one of
those clear dark complexions that owe nothing
to cosmetics. There were a very few threads
of shining silver to mar the ebon blackness of
her massive hair. She dressed richly, but simply

too.

dread of detection, as she approached the boat that half-concealed the tall form of the foreign Countess. The new-comer was by much the younger, and should have been the more active of the two; but she could scarcely keep her feet, so violent was the motion of the vessel.

'Why have you summoned me at such an hour?' asked the girl breathlessly, as she caught at the ship's side for support.

'Because, Mademoiselle, it was precisely at such a time that our meeting would pass unnoticed,' was the cool reply. I like the impossible, quoi! Yes, I knew, when I slipped the note into your hand, that you would come. The time I chose was just when the poor cowards below were giving themselves up for dead and drowned, too busy with tears and prayers, too hysterical and confused, to spy upon others.' 'It was an shuddering.

awful night,' said the girl,

'Yes; but I have seen worse!' returned Madame de Lalouve, with an impatient shrug of her shapely shoulder.-'Is your sister-is our dear Marchioness-at last asleep?'

I

And you, Miss Cora, were you afraid?' asked Madame de Lalouve abruptly.

What were the antecedents of Countess Louise? Nobody knew. The two or three continental passengers on board the Peninsular and Oriental 'Yes, Clare is asleep,' answered Miss Carew, packet were as much in the dark on that head in a low tone. 'Poor Clare-she was frightened! as were their insular fellow-travellers. Tattle one among so many who were half-dead with had seen her he was certain of that-at_an | alarm—and I was glad to see her at rest when Imperial entertainment at the Tuileries. But stole away, just now.' this proved nothing. The official festivities of the French capital used to be splendid, but not exactly select. It was said also that the Sphinx had something to do with the Egyptian government and with Ismail the Munificent. She had influence-so the tourists somewhat enviously declared-with the 'Palace lot,' with Kourbash Pasha, and Fellak Effendi, and Backsheesh Bey, and could get a state steamer, or procure an official firman before which Madirs grovelled, and even governors grew submissive, when ordinary wayfarers were helpless.

'No; for a wonder, I was not,' replied the girl. 'Among all those terrified people, the crying children, the scared women, I was surprised to find myself remain so calm and cool-as calm, almost, Madame, as yourself.'

'Bon! I have not misjudged you,' muttered the foreign Countess; 'you can dare, and you can do. Have you remembered my advice?'

'Perfectly,' replied Miss Carew, in a very low tone, and growing, even by that dim and uncertain light, perceptibly paler. 'How should I forget!'

'Good, again,' rejoined approvingly Madame de Lalouve, as her gloomy eyes rested for a moment on the fair young face beside her. 'There is one thing, though, of which you have not thought, and here it is.' And, as she uttered the words, she drew forth from beneath the folds of her dark shawl a folded paper, thin and square, such as druggists use. Take it; and be careful to let no eye but your own behold it, until the moment comes. Your woman's wit will teach you what to do with it.'

Was Madame de Lalouve even French? Her name sounded Gallic enough, and her accent was faultless; but she might well have been a Pole or a Magyar, even a Russian, so varied were her reminiscences of former scenes and friends, of Archduchesses and archplotters, of Spanish Infantas, Red Revolutionists, Imperial Highnesses, celebrities of the studio and the stage, and the oracles of the money-market, when she deigned to talk. Sometimes she was provokingly taciturn, and not seldom spoke in riddles, as if to justify her Egyptian nickname of the Sphinx. To the Marchioness of Leominster and her sister Cora, this cosmopolitan Countess did apparently find it worth her while to talk, winning their atten- 'No, no-I cannot do it!' murmured the girl, tion, as it seemed, less by what she said than with white lips and half-averted head; 'never by the strange winning charm of her impressive-never!' And she recoiled a little from the side of her foreign friend.

manner.

You

For whom, or for what, was it possible that 'Never-never!' repeated Madame de Lalouve, Countess Louise, at such a time and in such in a voice which, low as it was, rang with an weather, should be waiting, half-hidden behind eloquent scorn that was but half-suppressed. 'I the boat swaying in the slings, and grasping was mistaken, then, after all! You fail me. the rugged shroud nearest to her for support are like the rest, merely the blonde Miss-the upon that heaving deck? It was not very long English insipidity, all bread and butter, as your before the question was answered by the appear-own Lord Byron sang, never to shake off nursery ance of another figure, singularly out of place, prejudice the preach, the sermon, quoi! You as it seemed, in such a spot that of a slender, are afraid-a poule-mouillée, like your shivering golden-haired girl, dressed in black, who crossed ladies of last night. You flinch! You dare the deck with slow and uncertain steps. She, not do it!' too, glanced apprehensively around her, as if in

These last bitter words were hissed rather than

22

CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL.

spoken, and with an emphasis that had in it
Still, Miss Carew hesitated,
something terrible.
palpably hesitated, looking down at the deck,
until, by a sudden impulse, she lifted her blue
eyes and met the darkling gaze of the foreign
Countess with a resolution equal to her own.

'I am not afraid,' she said, almost in a whisper. 'Give it me-the packet, quick!'

The gloved hand of the Frenchwoman and the white soft fingers of the English girl met and touched for an instant, as the thin square of folded paper was rapidly transferred from the keeping of Countess Louise to that of Miss Carew.

'Hide it some one comes!' exclaimed Madame de Lalouve hastily; and then she turned aside and seemed to be intent in her observation of sea and sky. Another passenger had come on deck, and this time the firm heavy tread was that of a man, tall, young, and sufficiently hand

some.

'Madame de Lalouve !' said a deep rich voice in evident surprise. 'I scarcely expected to be fortunate enough to meet a lady on deck so early and after such a night.'

Per'You are astonished, Monsieur Talbot? Or we longed haps we were too terrified to rest. Or we wished to see with our for fresh air. own eyes-women are inquisitive, you know, like poor Fatima in Blue Beard's castle-we wished to see that the danger was really past,' answered Countess Louise in the half-mocking tone that often perplexed those with whom she conversed.

'Lady Leominster!' said the young Englishman, with a gesture of raising his hat, while his whole manner changed as he caught sight of the 'I had no idea that you, younger lady's form. too, had ventured on deck so early, and with such a heavy sea still running.-May I offer you my It was arm, if you are going below again?' evident that Mr Talbot, if such were his name, believed himself to be addressing the widowed Marchioness.

'Courage! It is of good omen, chère belle !' muttered Madame de Lalouve; and with some half-audible word of thanks, the girl laid her white hand on the young man's strong arm, and allowed herself to be led away without an attempt to correct the mistake into which he had fallen.

Arthur Talbot felt the soft hand tremble, and
he had enough to do to sustain the steps of his
fair charge across the rolling deck; but as he
drew nearer to the cabin-stairs, he turned his
head. I beg your pardon, Countess,' he said,
with the instinctive courtesy of a gentleman; Í
will come back, if I can be useful to you, as soon
as Lady Leominster is safe in her cabin.'

'It is not the trouble to derange yourself for
me, merci, Monsieur; I can take care of myself,'
replied the Frenchwoman, with perfect uncon-
cern; and then she averted her face and stood
in an easy attitude, scanning murky sky and
When she turned her head, the
tossing sea.
deck was clear, save where the helmsman stood,
And then Madame
attentive, at the wheel.
de Lalouve traversed the difficult deck, treading
the wet and tremulous planks with even a more
As she
assured step than Arthur Talbot's own.
descended the brass-bound stairs that led to the

cabins below, she struck her gloved palm lightly
upon the painted hatch, and with a brightening
The game is won!'
eye and a low laugh of triumph, murmured:

REMINISCENCES OF THE MINOR STAGE.
BY AN OLD STAGER.

* PART III.

To leave on record my recollections of the
'unpatented' houses, without mention of the
would be to omit one of the most interesting
'stage' sailor and certain of his representatives,
features. The 'British tar,' as seen through the
spectacles of the British playwright of fifty years
ago, was quite unique. Built up on the familiar
The patriotic fire fed by our
lines furnished by the songs of Dibdin, he became
an institution.
Napoleon, had indeed somewhat abated; but the
victories at sea during the then recent war with
memory thereof had served to endow the defenders
This popular sentiment was
of our wooden walls with all the attributes of a
ministered to, and kept alive by, the astute
race of heroes.
theatrical manager. With the assistance of such
practised hands as Jerrold, Buckstone, Haines,
and Fitzball, success was a foregone conclusion.
A run of one or two hundred nights was by no
means unusual with pieces of this class. Another
remarkable peculiarity attaching itself to the
nautical drama was the fact that its chief
characters were almost invariably taken from

before the mast.

'Jack' was without doubt the central subject Admirals and post-captains, when of the picture; the rest, in sporting phrase, were nowhere. introduced, were for the most part mere layfigures. The best of the acted sea-narratives were produced on the transpontine stage, notably at the old Surrey Theatre, where such pieces as supreme. Black-eyed Susan and My Poll and my Partner Joe ruled

Admitting the popular regard for this particular phase of public amusement, it might be natural to assume that most of our leading actors on the minor stage would endeavour to excel in this When Elliston produced was not far to seek. favourite role; but it was not so, and the reason Monday 1829, Mr Thomas Potter Cooke had Douglas Jerrold's Black-eyed Susan on WhitAuthor, actor, and been selected to play the part of William. The choice was a happy one. manager were alike delighted. From that time forward until his death in 1864, his superlative talent in this speciality was eagerly recognised, and securely maintained. "Tippy' Cooke not Native, and to the manner born, no shade of only extorted admiration, but inspired affection. distinct personality escaped him. With a strong ness in voice, bearing, and manner; loose and sense of humour, he united a natural manlieasy in his movements, he carried about him Father Neptune; liberally exuberant, a show of freedom begotten by his commerce with without being boisterous-excepting under stress of weather he would spin you a marvellous yarn in good faith; pathetic without being lachrymose, his tears were closely neighboured

* Continued from Nos. 953 and 978 of this Journal.

Journal

by gaiety. His scrupulous attention to costume an excellent performance of Icilius to the Virpassed into a proverb. Outside this particular ginius of Mr Osbaldiston. If fame should wait line of business, he had no equal in the upon merit, the last-named gentleman's career delineation of such parts as Frankenstein and at the Victoria, both as actor and manager, Vanderdecken; his pantomimic action was deserves a record. Previous to his advent, dirt superb. A nimble dancer, his hornpipes were and incompetence prevailed on both sides of the the delight of the town. curtain. He cleansed and renovated the entire establishment; introduced an excellent working company, and wisely employed their various talents in illustrating the best literature he could command. Woman's Love, and Susan Hopley--a dramatised version of Mrs Crowe's novel-were huge successes. As an artist, Osbaldiston revealed his best points in serious comedy. Don Felix, Mr Oakley, and Mercutio, were admirable specimens of sterling merit. His Rob Roy, too, was exceptionally good. Boasting such efficient coadjutors as Savile-transferred from the SurreyJohn Dale, Seaman, and Henry Howard—a conscientious actor, with a fine presence and a noble voice-Osbaldiston could mount a five-act play with rare effect. Paul, and John Gardner, supplied the comic element. Gardner was a genuine comedian, with brain-power enough to grasp the idiosyncrasies of Shakspeare's clowns, and adequately represent them. Touchstone, Launcelot Gobbo, and Grumio, were impregnated with subtle humour.

Without doubt, the approved superiority of T. P. Cooke deterred many would-be competitors; but there are one or two who deserve mention. I call to mind Campbell of Sadler's Wells, a competent actor of a melodramatic cast; but he was hard and heavy, and lacked vivacity. Farrell and George Rignold, both of the Pavilion, were only passable as impersonators of the 'longshore sailor, whose merit consisted in swilling three-quarter grog and expectorating tobacco-juice. The rage for the nautical drama had reached its zenith when Miss Macarthy made her first appearance at the east end of London with signal success. Davidge, an actor of eccentric parts, then manager of the Surrey, determined, to secure her services for his own house. The transfer was soon effected; and the lady quickly established herself as a favourite. As Mrs R. Honner, she enjoyed the privilege of inspiring her patrons not only with all the usual marks of admiration for her talents as leading actress, but also with respect, esteem, and love for her virtues. Her scenic displays were simply a reflex of her personal character. Gifted with much emotional power when occasion needed, she never made any unnecessary use of this power. Robert Honner, the husband of this lady, was a useful member of the company; but his special talent was discovered in the difficult art of management. When he became lessee of Sadler's Wells, he found a field worthy of his abilities. No pains were spared to raise the character of the entertainments; and he became very popular. Eventually the City of London Theatre passed under his sway.

During these enforced absences, his wife's services were withdrawn from the old theatre in the Blackfriars Road, and we were fain to fall back upon the attractions of another local star in the person of Mrs Henry Vining. To this meritorious actress we offered our suffrages freely, and she justified the gift by her faithfulness. Rather under the middle size, and with the complexion of a brunette, she had one of the sweetest voices that ever charmed an audience. Thoroughly at home as the heroine of domestic drama, she enlisted our sympathies by the potency of her appeals. Without undue vehemence, she had vigorous declamation at command, as witness her Jane of the Hatchet, and her Mrs Sheppard.

In the person of E. F. Savile we had a prodigious favourite. Coming of a theatrical family, the traditions of the stage were familiar to him, and, be it said, he made good use of them. Although but a young man, he had mannerisms of the most pronounced character; but withal there was an enticing charm about his acting which served in some sort to condone them. In clear ringing tones his enunciation was always distinct. With force enough in reserve, he never tore passion to tatters, but used his power discreetly. He wooed admirably. Without the qualifications necessary for a leading man, he made a good juvenile tragedian. I call to mind

Miss Vincent was without doubt our great attraction. Beautiful, impulsive, natural, she portrayed to perfection the ideal domesticities of humble life as pictured in the dramas of the day. The heroine of domestic drama' was not permitted to carry the remnants of a broken heart under a mantle of reserve; neither were her joys to be hidden by a fictitious appearance of repose. The impulses of our common humanity were laid bare as with a scalpel. This mode of treatment not unfrequently imparted a degree of coarseness to the conception of character, which would not be tolerated now, even under the plea of realism; but fifty years ago we were not so squeamish; rudeness was often condoned by fidelity.

With the reader's kind permission, I will now add a few particulars not generally known in connection with a transition period. Half a century since, the environs of London were plentifully studded with pleasant places of public resort called tea-gardens. Some of these were of considerable size, sufficiently large indeed to admit of a bowling-green or a railed space for tennis. Time, however, assisted by the speculative builders, made short work of most of these. Still a few spots remained, albeit terribly shorn of their original proportions. In some sort to make up for lost attractiveness, a few of the wealthier proprietors erected stages in some part of the ground still remaining to them; singing and dancing, with the performance of operetta and drama, were speedily introduced with success. Consequent on the introduction of these new elements, the primitive recreation-ground, with its rustic arbours and trim flower-beds, gradually assumed another phase. The simple characteristics of the old tea-garden having been superseded, a change of name was suggested by the various lessees, as indicative of a more comprehensive entertainment; henceforth, they were styled 'saloons,' as witness, amongst others, the Grecian, the Albert, and the Bower.

In connection with the last-named establish

24

CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL.

ment, I am in a position to offer some interesting
particulars. Forty years ago, the proprietor of
the tavern, saloon, and gardens was a Mr G. A.
Hodson. In person, this talented gentleman bore
a most remarkable resemblance to Charles Kemble.
His claims as a composer were recognised in the
popular songs of Tell me, Mary, how to woo thee,
and My Bonny Black Bess. Though an indifferent
actor, he was a good baritone singer and a thorough
With his numerous family-each of
musician.
whom possessed some ability-and a small selected
company, he contrived to furnish a creditable
diversion. G. A. Hodson, Junior, found his
way to the boards of Covent Garden Theatre,
when under the management of Madame Vestris,
where he made a successful debut as Sir Lucius
O'Trigger. One of the best comic singers of
the day, W. H. Sharpe, was a great favourite
here. Our leading man for a considerable
period was Henry Dudley, a praiseworthy actor,
who afterwards became noted at the east end of
London and the Victoria. But perhaps my most
precious association with the Bower remains
in the fact that I assisted at the first public
appearance of 'Little' Robson. I was an amateur
then, and a near neighbour, and we fell into
He had already donned
easy companionship.
the sock and buskin at the private theatre in
Catherine Street, to the great delight of his
friends. But he wished to elicit the unbiassed
opinion of an audience to whom he was a stranger.
With this end in view, he made an application to
Mr Hodson for permission to play the Artful
Dodger in the dramatised version of Oliver Twist.
The manager cheerfully assented, and put the
During the
piece into immediate rehearsal.
initial performances, Robson evinced so much
talent that the lessee prognosticated a complete
The result verified the prediction.
Slightly nervous on stepping to the front, he soon
warmed to his work, and gave such a taste of his
quality as led to the offer of a regular engagement.
This was flattering indeed. But he wisely refused
to entertain it. Keenly alive to his deficiencies in
all that pertained to the 'business' of the stage,
he determined to go into the country forthwith,
in order that he might gain by experience the
necessary technicalities of his adopted profession.
This task accomplished, he returned to London,
and eventually became the famous actor we are
proud to remember.

success.

FOR HIMSELF ALONE.
A TALE OF REVERSED IDENTITIES.
CHAPTER II.

FOR a little while no one spoke. The minds of
the three men were occupied with the same
subject, but each of them was looking at it from
his own point of view.

'You were my father's friend, and you must
be mine in this matter, Mr Gimp,' said Frank at
last. It shall be nothing out of your pocket to
humour me in this whim.'

'But it will be so unprofessional-so utterly unprofessional,' urged the little lawyer, with a look of comical distress.

'I do not ask you for any active assistance in the matter; all I want is your passive connivance,' urged Frank.

I hate impostures of any kind, Mr Fro

'Not more than I do, as a rule. But this one
bisher.'
see how things will end.
'One never
cannot harm anybody.'
Besides, Mr Drummond's looks and general
appearance are so different from yours.'

can

That does not matter in the least. Neither
my uncle 'nor aunt has seen me since I was
twelve months old. My cousin Clunie, and my
other cousin Elma Deene, have never seen me at
all. I am not a bit like my mother, I have been
told: features, eyes, hair, are all my father's.'

'I do wish most sincerely, Mr Frobisher, that
if you must carry out this scheme, you could do
'I must really claim your passive assistance,
so without in any way implicating me in it.'
my dear sir. Without that, my little plot would
at once break down.'

Mr Gimp lay back in his chair with a sigh of
resignation and began to polish his double eye-
glass. Mr Frobisher was evidently a most deter-
mined young man; and some concession was due
to the whims of a client with eight thousand a
year.

'And now for my instructions,' cried Dick.

'They are of the simplest possible kind. The moment my uncle is announced, you become Frank Frobisher, and I become Dick Drummond.'

'In other words, I become you, and you become 'Yes, till I give you leave to resume your own me--for the time?' identity.'

"To hear, my lord, is to obey.' 'Have you a Frank turned to the lawyer. Our Mr Whiffles, confidential clerk, Mr Gimp, whom you can place 'Certainly, Mr Frobisher. at my disposal for a week or two?' although young, is discretion itself, and by no means devoid of intelligence. I shall be happy to place him at your disposal.'

Be good enough to send Mr Whiffles to me at ten o'clock to-morrow, and advance him fifty 'Beg pardon; but any instructions that I can pounds before he comes.' give Whiffles from you'

6

Thanks; but I prefer to instruct him myself. The business on which I am about to employ No doubt. Whiles is your man, him is strictly confidential-at present.'

'Just so.

sir.'

For the second time a knock; and next moment the maid-of-all-work's somewhat clouded face was visible. 'Another gentleman to see Mr Frob'sher,' was all she said.

'My uncle!' exclaimed Frank.

'Oh, my prophetic soul!' cried Dick.

Mr Gimp fumbled nervously with his eyeglass, each other with a sort of guilty consciousbut did not speak. The three men glanced at ness.

'Show the gentleman up,' said Frank to the if you please.' His face had darkened again as servant.-Now, Dick, attention.-Now, Mr Gimp, it had darkened when his uncle's name was first such as Dick had rarely seen in them before. mentioned. In his eyes there was an expression He went back to the sofa between the two windows and resumed his seat.

Footsteps were heard on the stairs. Mr Gimp