When they got back to the hotel, a goodly knot of persons were about
the entrance and dotted in the nobel hall, and at our little heroes
arrival their chatter died to a respectful hiss, and bowing nicely to
right and left Harold Withersq and his Selia stamped within, but Selia
wished all the to do was for her.
“Toodleoo” she told her Harold “I am to get my nails done at a place.”
“Done?” snarled her sweet. “How done?”
“At much cost” said Selia simply so with a delited smile he drew forth
the copious money and stuffed the notes in her bag which was like a
crocodil with head tail and paws but it was only a little one and
lined with stuff. Then Mr. Withersq waved her away so she departed
getting a bit mixed up in the roundabout at the door which is only
meant for fun but she got jamd.
“Now gentlemen” said he stripping off his new butter coloured gloves
like banana skins as he had seen heros do on the pictures, “and what
may I do for you.” This he had learnt in shops in the old days so it
was not very smart.
Now these new folk, most men in servicable suits and white collars
wearing nose-glasses before their keen eyes but a few ladys in prim
attire, stepped up and they were all from newspapers, for the fame of
Harold Withersq had spread and he was the talk of the hour. So that
the newspapers had snapt at the chance of a bit from him.
As the babbel ceased Mr. Withersq made a motion of modesty and sought
to retire, but was cort short by a ruddy one in checks who asked him
would he write a little for his paper, and another thin one who asked
him when he was born, and a lady who commanded him to tell her about
love for the ladys page.
All agog Mr. Withersq who was never one to lose a chance, made to tell
them, knowing no guile, when a sudden thought smote him, he clasped
his brow rather earnest for a moment, then brushing them from him, he
darted into the glassy telephone box near by.
“Hello” cried he to the invisible voice of the girl of the wires, “get
me the editer of the _Daily Pull_” and so stood waiting for it.
The assembled crowd breathed in distress for this was a bold move. The
girl got Mr. Withersq on after he had stamped a little because of
being hot in the glassy box and he sweated so much.
“This is Mr. Withersq” he was heard to utter. All were aghast to think
he dared to summons that great editor to the phone. The voice of our
hero continued very proud for who was he to bend before editors now:
“You have heard of me. My unckle Burt having died leaving the goods,
you know how I stept into glory, and how I am in society and I have
become the Head Poet. Some folks have come to tap my brains for their
papers, so I thought I would ring you up instead and proffer to make
you a chatty little bit for the front page about how I got on in the
world.”
“Very good then” he chortled in response to the editors unheard words,
“yes indeed it is too true that all are willing to be told how to get
there but few arrive. I will do my best by the public.” Cramming down
the hear-piece he burst from the box and ambled up to his apartment
humming a little air and leaving the crushed crowd below.
Did he falter? That no one shall know but he soon picked up, and
tucked up his new mauve cuffs, and sat down, and began.
And when Selia returned, she tripped into his room where he sat now in
a bandana dressing-gown at a desk with a pen in hand and some ink on
his nose.
“Behold” cried she stripping her gloves and twinkling like jewls her
new-polished nails at him, “lo Harold what they have done for me!”
“Tush” cried he blotting his last page, yet looked towards her for he
dearly loved her did Mr. Withersq and had all of a great man’s easy
ways. “Quite a little picture” he went on giving her a good look over.
She was indeed improved in a gown with red bits on and slippery shoes
very long and nasty-looking but the thing and silk stocking of the
best with ventilations on the sides and the crocodil bag and one of
those little hats like a hen, which when she took off laid bare a
delicous mass of curly hares and her face was made up suitable to a
lady. Selia was indeed grand.
“Kiss me then” said Harold to be done with it, during which she
wetted a new handky and rubbed the ink off his nose.
“If I may say so you are rather smart to look at now” he said, “I
think that you will be a credit to me and no doubt your time will
come.”
“Ah that it might” lisped she sorely with a tear, “for of a truth the
ladys are none to nice to me when you are absent and I have many a
bitter stair with that sideways turn of the head which is so proud
from some no better than me but safely married. Or so I take it.”
“Shush shush” cried the kind Mr. Withersq. “All will be well, and I
will marry you so soon as I can afford to do so without putting my
foot in the social hole. And in the meantime I am writing newspapers.”
Selia now clapped her hands none knowing better than she to what heits
the newspapers can carry some who know how to take bulls by the horns,
and then feeling a bit out of it as she noticed him casting an eye on
the inkpot once more, crept from the room and went up to her bedroom
to have a nap under the quilt, and dream of the rosy days yet to come.
When she woke again it was morning for she had been sore tired by all
the events and had slept round the clock twice. Beneath her
lace-veiled window the voice of many newsboys cried a name she seemed
to know, so slipping from her bed she flew to have a peep into the
street, and hanging well out she saw oh with what glee and pride writ
large on every plachard held before the stomaches of the newsboys
these words:
HOW I DID IT:
By H. Withersquash
(Head Poet)
Now was Selia indeed moved to pride, and wept a tear into the
window-sill to think how dearly she loved him and how high she had to
rise yet before worthy to sit beside him as wife and matron. So she
crossed her little fingers and wished hard that she might soon get a
good leg up through her good friends the Majpottels, after which she
slided out of her clothes and things and had a nice wash in the basin
all over altho not knowing that such is corect nature taught her it
was best so every day. And while doing up her hair she practiced
talking in the new voice and warking with ease in the new thin shoes,
and so with a last dab of powder from a pretty little glass pot on her
dress-table, she popped downt to breakfast very spry and determined to
win.
And throughout London newsboys shouted the fame of Mr. Withersquash.