As soon as Celia had got a chequebook of her own (and I had explained
the mysteries of "---- & Co." to her), she looked round for a safe
investment of her balance, which amounted to several pounds. My offers,
first of an old stocking and afterwards of mines, mortgages and aerated
breads, were rejected at once.
"I'll leave a little in the bank in case of accidents," she said, "and
the rest must go somewhere absolutely safe and earn me five per cent.
Otherwise they shan't have it."
We did what we could for her; we offered the money to archdeacons and
other men of pronounced probity; and finally we invested it in the
Blanktown Electric Light Company. Blanktown is not its real name, of
course; but I do not like to let out any information which may be of
value to Celia's enemies--the wicked ones who are trying to snatch her
little fortune from her. The world, we feel, is a dangerous place for a
young woman with money.
"Can't I _possibly_ lose it now?" she asked.
"Only in two ways," I said. "Blanktown might disappear in the night, or
the inhabitants might give up using electric light."
It seemed safe enough. At the same time we watched the newspapers
anxiously for details of the latest inventions; and anybody who happened
to mention when dining with us that he was experimenting with a new and
powerful illuminant was handed his hat at once.
You have Blanktown, then, as the depository of Celia's fortune. Now it
comes on the scene in another guise. I made the announcement with some
pride at breakfast yesterday.
"My dear," I said, "I have been asked to deliver a lecture."
"What ever on?" asked Celia.
"Anything I like. The last person lectured on 'The Minor Satellites of
Jupiter,' and the one who comes after me is doing 'The Architecture of
the Byzantine Period,' so I can take something in between."
"Like 'Frostbites,'" said Celia helpfully. "But I don't quite
understand. Where is it, and why?"
"The Blanktown Literary and Philosophical Society ask me to lecture to
them at Blanktown. The man who was coming is ill."
"But why _you_ particularly?"
"One comes down to me in the end," I said modestly.
"I expect it's because of my electric lights. Do they give you any money
for it?"
"They ask me to name my fee."
"Then say a thousand pounds, and lecture on the need for more electric
light. Fancy if I got six per cent.!"
"This is a very sordid conversation," I said. "If I agree to lecture
at all, it will be simply because I feel that I have a message to
deliver ... I will now retire into the library and consider what that
message is to be."
I placed the _Encyclopaedia_ handy and sat down at my desk. I had already
grasped the fact that the title of my discourse was the important thing.
In the list of the Society's lectures sent to me there was hardly one
whose title did not impress the imagination in advance. I must be
equally impressive....
After a little thought I began to write.
"WASPS AND THEIR YOUNG.
"_Lecture delivered before the Blanktown Literary and Philosophical
Society, Tuesday, December 8th._
"Ladies and Gentlemen----"
"Well," said Celia, drifting in, "how's it going?"