IV

The parquetry all around the square of carpet was so smooth that Dale

had slipped a foot and nearly come down when he entered the room and

bowed to his judges; and now he moved with extreme caution when they

told him to withdraw to the window.

There were three seated at the table, and none of the three was the

Postmaster-General. Two of them were obviously bigwigs--so big, at any

rate, that his fate lay in their hands; and the other one was a

secretary--not the General Secretary--not even a gentleman, if one

could draw any inference from his deferential tone and the casual

manner in which the others addressed him. He was a sandy person--not

unlike Ridgett, but rather older and much fatter.

Once a quiet young gentleman--a real gentleman, although apparently

acting just as a clerk--had been in and out of the room. He had given

Dale a half smile, and it had been welcome as a ray of sunlight on the

darkest day of winter. Instinct told Dale that this nice young man

sympathized with him, as certainly as it told him that his judges were

unsympathetic.

He stood now in the deep bay window, as far as possible from the

table, pretending not to listen while straining every nerve to catch

the words that were being spoken over there. His blood was hurrying

thickly, his heart beat laboriously, his collar stuck clammily to his

perspiring neck. His sense of bodily fatigue was as great as if he had

run a mile race; and yet one might say that the interview had scarcely

begun. What would he be like before it was over? He summoned all his

courage in order to go through with it gamely.

... "You can't have this sort of thing." The words had reached him

distinctly--spoken by the one they called Sir John; and the one that

Sir John called "Colonel" said with equal distinctness, "Certainly

not."

Dale's heart beat more easily. As he hoped and believed, they must be

talking of the soldier. Then the heart-beats came heavy again. Were

they talking of him and not of the soldier? He caught a few other

broken phrases of enigmatic import--such as "storm in teacup,"

"trouble caused," "no complaints"--and then the voices were lowered,

and he heard no more of the conversation at the table.

Presently he saw that the secretary was producing a fresh file of

papers, and at the same moment, quite inexplicably, his attention

wandered. He had brought out a handkerchief, and while with a slow

mechanical movement he rubbed the palms of his hands, he noticed and

thought about the furniture and decoration of the room. Clock, map,

and calendar; some busts on top of a bookless bookcase; red turkey

carpet, the treacherous parquetry, and these stiff-looking

chairs--really that was all. The emptiness and tidiness surprised him,

and he began to wonder what the Postmaster-General's room was like.

Surely there would be richer furniture and more litter of business

there. Then, with a little nervous jerk, as of his internal machinery

starting again after a breakdown, he felt how utterly absurd it was

to be thinking about chairs and desks at such a moment. He must pull

himself together, or he was going to make an ass of himself.

"Now, if you please." They were calling him to the table. He slowly

marched across to them, and stood with folded hands.

"Well now, Mr. Dale." The Colonel was speaking, while Sir John read

some letters handed to him by the secretary. "We have gone into this

matter very carefully, and I may tell you at once that we have come to

certain conclusions."

"Yes, sir." Dale found himself obliged to clear his throat before

uttering the two words. His voice had grown husky since he last spoke.

"You have caused us a lot of trouble--really an immense amount of

trouble."

Dale looked at the Colonel unflinchingly, and his voice was all right

this time. "Trouble, sir, is a thing we can't none of us get away

from--not even in private affairs, much less in public affairs."

"No; but there is what is called taking trouble, and there is what is

called making trouble."

"And the best public servants, Mr. Dale"--this was Sir John, who had

unexpectedly raised his eyes--"are those who take most and make

least;" and he lowered his eyes and went on reading the documents.

"First," said the Colonel, "there is your correspondence with the

staff at Rodhaven. Here it is. We have gone through it carefully--and

there's plenty of it. Well, the plain fact is, it has not impressed us

favorably--that is, so far as you are concerned."

"Sorry to hear it, sir."

"No, I must say that the tone of your letters does not appear to be

quite what it should be."

"Indeed, sir. I thought I followed the usual forms."

"That may be. It is not the form, but the spirit. There is an

arrogance--a determination not to brook censure."

"No censure was offered, sir."

"No, but your tone implied that you would not in any circumstances

accept it."

"Only because I knew I hadn't merited it, sir."

"But don't you see that subordination becomes impossible when each

officer--"

Sir John interrupted his colleague.

"Mr. Dale, perhaps short words will be more comprehensible to you than

long ones."

Dale flushed, and spoke hurriedly.

"I'm not without education, sir--as my record shows. I won the Rowland

Hill Fourth Class Annual and the Divisional Prize for English

composition."

Sir John and the Colonel exchanged a significant glance; and Dale,

making a clumsy bow, went on very submissively. "However you are good

enough to word it, sir, I shall endeavor to understand."

"Then," said Sir John, with a sudden crispness and severity, "the

opinion I have derived from the correspondence is that you were

altogether too uppish. You had got too big for your boots."

"Sorry that should be your opinion, sir."

"It is the opinion of my colleague too," said Sir John sharply. "The

impudence of a little Jack in office. I'm the king of the castle."

"I employed no such expression, sir."

"No, but you couldn't keep your temper in writing to your superiors,

any more than you could in managing the ordinary business of your

office.

"Who makes the allegation?" Unconsciously Dale had raised his voice to

a high pitch. "That's what I ask. Let's have facts, not allegations,

sir."

"Or," said Sir John, calmly and gravely, "any more than you can keep

your temper now;" and he leaned back in his chair and looked at Dale

with fixed attention.

Dale's face was red. He opened and shut his mouth as if taking gulps

of air.

Sir John smiled, and continued very quietly and courteously. "You must

forgive me, Mr. Dale, if by my bruskness and apparent lack of

consideration I put you to a little test. But it seemed necessary. You

see, as to Rodhaven, the gravamen of their charge against you--"

"Charge!" Dale's voice had dropped to a whisper. "Do they lodge a

charge against me, sir--in spite of my record?"

"Their report is of course strictly confidential, and it is not

perhaps my duty to inform you as to its details."

"I thought if a person's accused, he should at least know his

indictment, sir."

Sir John smiled, and nudged the Colonel's elbow. "Then, Mr. Dale, it

merely amounts to this. They say you are unquestionably an efficient

servant, but that your efficiency--at any rate, in the position you

have held of late--has been marred by what seem to be faults of

temperament. They believe--and we believe--that you honestly try to

do your best; but, well, you do not succeed."

"I'd be glad to know where I've failed, sir. Mr. Ridgett, he said he

found everything in apple-pie order. That was Mr. Ridgett's very own

word."

"Who is Mr. Ridgett?"

"Your inspector, sir--what you sent to take over."

"Ah, yes. But he no doubt referred to the office itself. What I am

referring to is a much wider question--the necessity of avoiding

friction with the public. We have to remember that we are the servants

of the public, and not its masters. Now in country districts--You were

at Portsmouth, weren't you, before you went to Rodchurch?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, of course, in the poorer parts of big towns like Portsmouth,

one has rather a rough crowd to deal with; good manners may not be

required; a dictatorial method is not so much resented. But in a

country village, in a residential neighborhood, where high and low are

accustomed to live in amity--well, I must say candidly, a postmaster

who adopts bullying tactics, and is always losing his temper--"

"Sir," said Dale earnestly, "I do assure you I am not a bully, nor one

who is always losing his temper."

"Yet you gave me the impression of irascibility just now, when I drew

you."

Dale inwardly cursed his stupidity in having allowed himself to be

drawn. He had made a mistake that might prove fatal. He felt that the

whole point of the affair was being lost sight of; they seemed to have

drifted away into a discussion of good and bad manners, while he

wanted to get back to the great issue of right and wrong, justice or

injustice. And he understood the ever-increasing danger of being

condemned on the minor count, with the cause itself, the great

fundamental principle, remaining unweighed.

"No one," he said, humbly but firmly, "regrets it more than I do,

gentlemen, if I spoke up too hot. But, sir," and he bowed to Sir John,

"you were wishing to nettle me, and there's no question that for the

moment I was nettled."

All three judges smiled; and Dale, accepting the smiles as a happy

augury, went on with greater confidence.

"I'm sure I apologize. And I ask you not to turn it to more than its

proper consequence--or to make the conclusion that I'm that way as a

rule. With all respect, I'd ask you to think that this means a great

deal to me--a very great deal; and that it has dragged on

until--naturally--it begins to prey on one's mind. I am like to that

extent shaken and off my balance; but I beg, as no more than is due,

gentlemen, that you won't take me for quite the man up here, where

all's strange, to what I am down there, where I'm in my element and on

my own ground. And I would further submit, under the head of all

parties at Rodhaven, that there may be a bit of malice behind their

report."

"What malice could there possibly be? They appear to have shown an

inclination to pass over the whole matter."

"Only if I took a black mark, sir. That's where the shoe pinched with

me, sir--and perhaps with them too. They mayn't have been best pleased

when I asked to have _your_ decision over theirs."

Then the Colonel spoke instead of Sir John.

"But apart from Rodhaven, we have evidence against you from the

village. Your neighbors, Mr. Dale, complain more forcibly than anybody

else."

"Is that so?" Dale felt as if he had received a wickedly violent blow

in the dark. "Of course," and he moved his hands spasmodically--"Of

course I've long expected I'd enemies." Then he snorted. "But I

suppose, sir, you're alluding now to a certain Member of Parliament

whose name I needn't mention."

"Yes, I allude to him, and to others--to several others."

"If some have spoken against me, there's a many more would have spoken

for me."

"But they have not done so," said the Colonel dryly.

For a moment Dale's mental distress was so acute that his ideas seemed

to blend in one vast confused whirl. Some answer was imperatively

necessary, and no answer could evolve itself. Hesitation would be

interpreted as the sign of a guilty conscience. And in this dreadful

arrest of his faculties, the sense of bodily fatigue accentuated

itself till it seemed that it would absolutely crush him.

"Gentlemen, as I was venturing to say--" Really the pause had been

imperceptible: "From the vicar downwards, there's many would have

spoke to my credit--if I'd asked them. And I did not ask them--and for

why?"

"Well, why?"

"Because," said Dale, with a brave effort, "I relied implicitly on the

fair play that would be meted out here. From the hour I knew I was to

be heard at headquarters, I said this is now between me and

headquarters, and I don't require any one--be it the highest in the

land--coming between us."

"Ah, I understand," said the Colonel, with great politeness.

"Such was my confident feeling, sir--my full confidence that, having

heard me, you'd bear me out as doing my duty, and no more nor no less

than my duty."

Yet, even as he said so, his whole brain seemed as if fumes from some

horrid corrosive acid were creeping through and through it. In truth,

all his confidence had gone, and only his courage remained. These men

were hostile to him; they had prejudged him; their deadly politeness

and their airs of suave impartiality could not conceal their

abominable intentions. He had trusted them, and they were going to

show themselves unworthy of trust.

"Gentlemen," he said the word very loudly, and again there came the

check to the sequence of his ideas. In another whirl of thought he

remembered those courtyards at the Abbey House, the loyal service of

his wife's family, the great personage who might have spoken up for

him. Oh, why hadn't he allowed Mavis to write a second time imploring

aid? "Gentlemen--" He echoed the word twice, and then was able to go

on. "My desire has ever bin to conduct the service smooth and

expeditious, and in strict accordance with the regulations--more

particularly as set out in the manual, which I can truly

ass-ass-assev'rate that I read more constant and careful than what I

do the Bible."

He knew that the crisis was close upon him. Now or never he must speak

the words that should convince and prevail; and instinct told him

that he would speak in vain. Nevertheless, he succeeded in stimulating

himself adequately for the last great effort. He would fight game and

he would die game.

"If," he said stoutly, "I am at liberty now to make my plain statement

of the facts, I do so. It was seven-thirty-five P.M. Miss Yorke was at

the instrument. I was here"--and he moved a step away. "The soldier

was there;" and he pointed. "The soldier began his audacity by--"

"But, good gracious," said Sir John, "you are going back to the very

beginning."

"For your proper understanding," said Dale, with determination, "I

must commence at the commencement. If, as promised, I am to be

heard--"

"But you _have_ been heard."

"Your pardon, sir. You have examined me, but I have made no

statement."

"Oh, very well." Sir John, as well as the other two, assumed an

attitude of patient boredom. "Fire ahead, then, Mr. Dale."

And, bowing, Dale plunged into his long-pondered oration. Their three

faces told him that he was failing. Not a single point seemed to

score. He was muddled, hopeless, but still brave. He struggled on

stanchly. With a throbbing at his temples, a prickly heat on his

chest, a clammy coldness in his spine--with his voice sounding harsh

and querulous, or dull and faint--with the sense that all the

invisible powers of evil had combined to deride, to defeat, and to

destroy him--he struggled on toward the bitterly bitter end of his

ordeal.

He had nearly got there, was just reaching his man-to-man finale, when

the judges cut him short.

"One moment, Mr. Dale."

The nice young man had come in, and was talking both to Sir John and

the Colonel.

"Thank you. Just for a moment."

Of his own accord Dale had gone back to the window.

It was all over. Never mind about the end of the speech. Nothing could

have been gained by saying it. The tension of his nerves relaxed, and

a wave of sick despair came rolling upward from viscera to brain. He

knew now with absolute certainty that right was going to count for

nothing; no justice existed in the world; these men were about to

decide against him.

"Yes,"--and the young man laughed genially--"he said I was to offer

his apologies."

Dale listened to the conversation at the table without attempting to

understand it. Somebody, as he gathered dully, was demanding an

interview. But the interruption could make no difference. It was all

over.

"He said he wouldn't take 'No' for an answer."

Then they all laughed; and Sir John said to the young man, "Very well.

Ask him in."

The young man went out, leaving the door open; and Dale saw that the

secretary had risen and brought another chair to the table. Then

footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Sir John and the Colonel

smilingly turned their eyes toward the open doorway. Dale, turning his

eyes in the same direction, started violently.

The newcomer was Mr. Barradine.

He shook hands with the gentlemen at the table, who had both got up

to receive him; he talked to them pleasantly and chaffingly, and there

was more laughter; then he nodded to Dale; then he said he was much

obliged to the secretary for giving him the chair, and then he sat

down.

Dale's thoughts were like those of a drowning sailor, when through the

darkness and the storm he hears the voice of approaching aid. He had

been going down in the deep, cruel waters, with the longed-for lights

of home, the adored face of his wife, the dreaded gates of hell, all

dancing wildly before his eyes--and now. Breath again, hope again,

life again.

He listened, but did not trouble to understand. It was dreamlike,

glorious, sublime. The illustrious visitor had alluded to the fact

that Jack, the nice young man, was a connection of his; and had

explained that, hearing from Jack of to-day's appointment, he

determined to go right down there and beard the lions in their den. He

had also spoken of a nephew of Sir John's, who was coming to have a

bang at the Abbey partridges in September. He further reminded the

Colonel that he did not consider himself a stranger, because they used

to meet often at such and such a place. He also asked if the Colonel

kept up his riding. Now, without any change of tone, he was talking of

the case.

And Dale, watching, felt as if his whole heart had been melted, and as

if it was streaming across the room in a warm vapor of gratitude.

"My interest," said Mr. Barradine, "is simply public spirit; although

it is quite true that I know Mr. Dale personally. Indeed, he and his

wife have been friends with me and my family for more years than I

care to count."

Dale caught his breath and coughed. He was almost overwhelmed by the

noble turn of that last phrase. Friends! Nothing more, and nothing

less. Not patron and dependents, but friends.

"And, of course," Mr. Barradine was saying, "I want my friend to come

out of it all right--as I honestly believe he deserves to come out of

it."

Dale felt himself on the verge of breaking down and sobbing. His

strength had gone long ago, and now all his courage went too. With his

gratitude there mingled a cowardly joy that he had not been left to

fight things out alone and be beaten, that succor had come at the

supreme moment. Ardently admiring as well as fervently thanking, he

watched the friend in need, the splendid ally, the only agent of

Providence that could have saved him.

Who would not admire such a prince?

He was old and big, and though rather frail, yet so magnificently

grand. His costume was of the plainest character--black satin

neck-scarf tied negligently, with a pearl pin stuck through it anyhow,

a queer sort of black pea-jacket with braid on its edges, square-toed

patent-leather boots with white spats--and, nevertheless, he seemed to

be dressed as sumptuously as if he had been wearing all the gold and

glitter of his Privy Councilor's uniform. His face seemed to Dale like

the mask of a Roman emperor--a high-bridged delicate nose, thin gray

hair combed back from a low forehead, a ridge like a straight bar

above the tired eyes and a puffiness of flesh below them, a moustache

that showed the lose curves of the mouth, and a small pointed beard

that perhaps concealed an unbeautiful protrusion of the chin. His

voice, so calm, so evenly modulated, had been trained in the senate

and the palace. His attitude, his manner, his freedom from gesture

and emphasis, all indicated a born ruler as well as a born aristocrat.

Was it likely that when _he_ spoke he would fail?

Already he had swung the balance. Dale could see that he would not be

resisted. And as the great man sat talking--chatting, one might almost

term it--he seemed to be taking out of the atmosphere every element of

discomfort, all the passionate excitement, the hot throbs of

indignation, the cold tremors of fear. Dale felt his muscles

recovering tone, his legs stiffening themselves, his blood circulating

richly and freely.

"You have here," said Mr. Barradine, "a man of unblemished reputation,

who, acting obviously from conscientious motives, has in the exercise

of his judgment done so and so. Now, admitting for the sake of

argument, that he has done wrong, are you to punish him for an error

of judgment? We do not, however, admit that it was an error."...

Dale looked dogged and stern. He had been on the point of saying, "I

never will admit it;" but the words would not come out. He must not

interrupt. This was Heaven-sent advocacy.

Mr. Barradine went on quietly and grandly. In truth what he said now

was almost what had been said by the authorities at Rodhaven--good

intentions, over-zeal, a mistake, if you care to call it so;--but from

these lips it fell on Dale's ear as soothing music. Mr. Barradine

might say whatever he pleased: and the man he was defending would not

object.

"And now if I show the edge of the little private ax that I myself

have to grind!" Mr. Barradine laughed. They all laughed. "Our

member--we agree in politics; but, well, you know, he and I do not

altogether hit it off. We are both of us getting older than we

were--and perhaps we both suffer from swollen head. It's the

prevailing malady of the period."

Sir John laughed gaily. "I don't think you show any marked symptoms of

it. But I can't answer for what's-his-name."

"Well;" and Mr. Barradine made his first gesture--just a wave of the

right hand. "One can't have two kings at Brentford. And honestly I

shall feel that you have given me a smack in the face, if--"

"Oh, my dear sir!"

Then they sent Dale out of the room. Really it seemed that they had

forgotten his presence, or they might have banished him before. It was

the Colonel who suddenly appeared to remember that he was still

standing over there by the window.

He waited in a large empty room, and the time passed slowly. It was

the luncheon hour, and far and near he heard the footsteps of clerks

going to and coming from the midday meal. Bigwigs no doubt would take

their luncheon privately, in small groups, here and there, all over

the building. He too was getting very hungry.

An hour passed, an hour and a half, two hours; and then he was again

summoned to the other room. There was no one in it except the

secretary--looking hot and red after a copious repast, speaking

jovially and familiarly, and seeming altogether more common and less

important than when under the restraining influence of bigwigs.

"Ah, here you are." And he chuckled amicably, and gave Dale a roguish

nod. "You've had your wires pulled A1 for you. It's decided to stretch

a point in your favor. Not to make a secret, they don't wish to run

counter to Mr. B.'s wishes. You have been lucky, Mr. Dale, in having

him behind you."

Dale gulped, but did not say anything.

"Very well. I am to inform you that you will be reinstated; but--in

order to allow the talk to blow over--you will not resume your duties

for a fortnight. You will take a fortnight's holiday--from now--on

full pay."

Dale said nothing. He could have said so much. At this moment he felt

that his victory had been intrinsically a defeat. But the strength had

gone from him; and in its place there was only joy--weak but immense

joy in the knowledge that all had ended happily. And the world would

say that he had won.

V

Outside in the streets his joy increased. Nothing had mattered.

Beneath all surface sensations there was the deep fundamental rapture:

as of a wild animal that has been caught, and is now loose and free--a

squirrel that has escaped from the trap, and, whisking and bounding

through sunlight and shadow, understands that its four paws are still

under it, and that only a little of its fur is left in those iron

teeth. Security after peril--articulate man or dumb brute, can one

taste a fuller bliss?

But he must share and impart it. Mavis! He might not go dashing back

to Hampshire--the fortnight's exile prevented him from joining her

there. A broad grin spread across his face. What was that learned

saying that his old schoolmaster, Mr. Fenley, used to be so fond of

repeating? "If Mahomet can not go to the mountain, the mountain must

come to Mahomet."

The memory of this classical quotation tickled him, and he went

chuckling into the Cannon Street post office and wrote out a

telegraph-form.

"Reinstatement. Come at once. Shall expect you this evening without

fail."

Having sent off the telegram, he presently ordered his dinner in the

grill-room of a Ludgate Hill restaurant.

"Yes, let's see your notion of a well-cooked rumpsteak. And I'll try

some of the famous lager beer.... Oh, bottle or draught's all one to

me;" and he snapped his fingers and laughed. "Now, sharp's the word,

Mister waiter. I'm fairly famished."

The lager beer, served in a glass vase, was delicious--sunbeams

distilled to make a frothing and unheady nectar. The grilled steak and

the fried potatoes could not have been better done at the Buckingham

Palace kitchens. Never for three weeks had food tasted like this. All

had been dust and ashes in his mouth since the row began.

Then with appetite satisfied and digestion beginning, he smoked.

"If you've anything in the shape of a really good threepenny cigar, I

can do with it. But don't fob me off with any poor trash. For I've my

pipe in my pocket."

The waiter said he had a truly splendid threepenny; and Dale, enjoying

it, talked to the waiter. He could not help talking; he could not help

laughing. After so much silence it was a treat to hear the sound of

his own loud, jolly voice, and he gave himself the treat freely.

"You're from the country, sir," said the waiter, politely.

"Yes, bull's eye," said Dale, with boisterous good-humor. "Hand him

out a cokernut. But may I ask how you guessed my place of origin so

pat?"

"Well, sir. I don't know, sir. Haven't had you here before, I think."

"Oh, you're very clever, you Londoners. I don't doubt you can all see

through a brick wall. Yes, I'm from the country--but I'm beginning to

know my way about the town too. Ever bin on a steamboat to Rodhaven?"

"Rodhaven? No, sir."

Then Dale told the waiter about the heaths and downs and woods that

lie between Rodhaven and Old Manninglea.

"Prettiest part of the world that I know of," he said proudly. "You

spend your next holiday there. Take the four-horse sharrybank from

Rodhaven pier--and when you get to the Roebuck at Rodchurch, you get

off of the vehicle and ask for the Postmaster."

"Yes, sir?"

"He won't eat you," and Dale laughed with intense enjoyment of his

humor. "He's not a bad chap really, though his neighbors say he's a

bit of a Tartar. I give you my word he'll receive you, decently, and

stand you dinner into the bargain. I know he will--and for why?

Because I am that gentleman myself."

He could not resist the pleasure of rounding off his sentence with the

grand word "Gentleman," and he was gratified by the waiter's meekly

obsequious reception of the word.

"Thank you, sir. Much obliged, sir."

When leaving, he gave the waiter a generous tip.

To-day his walk through the gaily-crowded streets was sweet to him as

a lazy truant ramble in the woods during church-time. Everything that

he looked at delighted him--the richness of shop-windows, showing all

the expensive useless goods that no sensible person ever wants; the

liveries worn by pampered servants standing at carriage wheels; the

glossy coats of mettlesome, prancing horses; the extravagant dresses

of fine ladies mincingly walking on the common public pavement; the

stolid grandeur of huge policemen, and the infinite audacity of small

newspaper boys; the life, the color, the noise. It seemed as if the

busy city and the pleasure-loving West-end alike unfolded themselves

as a panorama especially arranged for one's amusement; and his

satisfaction was so great that it mutely expressed itself in words

which he would have been quite willing to shout aloud. Such as:

"Bravo, London! You aren't a bad little place when one gets to know

you. There's more in you than meets the eye, first view."

And because he was so happy himself, he could sympathize with the

happiness of everybody else. He was glad that the rich people were so

rich and the poor people so contented; he admired a young swell for

buying flowers from a woman with a shawl over her head; he mused on

all the honest, well-paid toil that had gone to the raising of the

grapes and peaches at a Piccadilly fruiterer's. "Live, and let

live"--that's a good motto all the world over. When he saw babies in

perambulators, he would have liked to kiss them. When he saw an

elderly man with a pretty young woman, he wanted to nudge him and say

jocosely, "You're in luck, old chap, aren't you?" When couples of boy

and girl lovers went whispering by, he smiled sentimentally. "That's

right. You can't begin too soon. Never mind what Ma says. If you like

him, stick to him, lassie."

And though still alone, he felt no loneliness. His own dear companion

was soon coming to him. Throughout the walk the only thoughts tinged

with solemnity were those which sprang from his always deepening

gratitude to Mr. Barradine. He wanted to pay a ceremonious call for

the purpose of expressing his thanks, and he felt that he should do

this immediately; but for the life of him he could not remember

whether the great man's London house was situated in Grosvenor Square

or Grosvenor Place. Mavis of course would know. Or he could find out

from one of these policemen. He hesitated, and it was the state of his

collar that decided him. He would postpone the visit of gratitude, and

do it first thing to-morrow morning in a clean collar.

The hall clock at his lodgings announced the hour as close on five,

and he mentally noted that the timepiece was inaccurate--three and a

half minutes behind Greenwich. As usual, the hall was untenanted, with

no servant to answer questions. He searched the dark recesses of a

dirty letter-rack, on the chance that he might find a telegram from

his wife waiting for him. Then he went gaily up the interminable

staircase, making nothing now of its five flights, enjoying their

steepness as productive of agreeable exercise.

"Hulloa!" he muttered. "What's this?"

A woman's hat and parasol were lying on a chair, and there was a

valise on the floor by the chest of drawers. Turning, he gave a cry of

delight. Mavis was stretched on the bed, fast asleep.

She woke at the sound of his voice, scrambled down, and flung herself

into his arms.

"Will, oh, Will. My dearest Will!

"My darling--my little sweetheart. But how have you come to me--have

you flown?"

"Don't be silly."

He was devouring her face with his kisses, straining her to his breast

in a paroxysm of pleasure, almost suffocating himself and her in the

ardor of the embrace, and jerking out his words as though they were

gasps for breath.

"When did you get my wire? Why, it's impossible. I on'y wired

two-forty-three. Is it witchcraft or just a dream?"

"Did you wire? I never got it. I was so anxious that I couldn't stay

there any longer without news. So I just packed and came. Will--be

sensible. Tell me everything."

"Best of news! Reinstated!" He bellowed the glad tidings over her

head. She was all warm and palpitating in his arms, her dear body so

delicate and fragile and yet so round and firm, her dear face soft and

smooth, with lips that trembled and smelled like garden flowers.

"Did you come up by the nine o'clock train? How long have you been

waiting here?"

"Oh, don't bother about me. I'm nothing. It's you I want to hear

about."

Then they sat side by side on the narrow little bed, he with his arm

firmly clasped round her waist, and she nestling against him with her

face hidden on his breast.

"Mav, my bird, I can't never leave you again. I've bin just a lost dog

without you. Did you start before you got my Sunday letter?"

"Yes."

"Every day I wrote--didn't I?--just like the old time. But I've a bone

to pick with you, young lady. What d'ye mean by not writing to me more

regular? Not even so much as a post-card these last three days!"

"Will--I, I couldn't. I was too anxious while it all remained in

suspense."

"Yes, but you might have sent me a card. I told you cards would

satisfy me. I was thinking of you off and on all yesterday. I can tell

you it was just about the longest day of my life. Did you and Auntie

go to church?"

"No. Oh, don't ask questions about me--when I'm dying for a full

account of it."

He asked no more questions. After stooping to kiss the fragrant coil

of hair above her forehead, he burst out into his joyous tale of

triumph.

"It was Mr. Barradine that did the trick for me;" and with enthusiasm

he narrated the gloriously opportune arrival of "the friend at court."

Indeed his enthusiasm was so great that he could not keep still while

speaking. He got off the bed, and walked about the room, brandishing

his arms. "He's just a tip-topper. If you could have been there to

hear him, you wouldn't 'a' left off crying yet. I tell you I was

fairly overcome myself. It was the _way_ he did it. 'Of course,' he

said, 'I want my friend to come out of it as I honestly believe he

deserves.' They couldn't stand up against him half a minute. But, mind

you, Mav;" and Dale stopped moving, and spoke solemnly, "he's aged

surprising these last few years. He's more feeble like than ever one

would think, seeing him on his horse. I mean, his bodily frame. The

int'lect's more powerful, I should make the guess, than ever it

was.... And mind you, here's another thing, Mav;" and he spoke even

more solemnly. "All this is going to be a lesson to me. I've worn my

considering cap most of the time I've been away from you--and, Mav,

I'm going to lay to heart the fruits of my experience. All's well that

ends well, old lady. But once bit, twice shy; and in the future I'm

going to trim my sails so's to avoid another such an upset." He came

back to the bed, and sat beside her again. "I shan't be too proud to

say the gray mare's the better horse when it comes to steering through

the etiquette book, and I mean to mend my manners by Mav's advice."

"My dear Will--my true husband--I'm so glad to think it's ended as we

wished."

Her joy in his joy was beautiful to see. Though her pretty eyes were

flooded by sudden tears, her whole face was shining with happiness;

and she pressed both her hands against him, and raised her lips to his

lips with the rapid movements of a child that craves a caress from its

loved and venerated guardian.

"There," he said, after a long hug. "Now use your hanky, and let's be

jolly--and begin to enjoy ourselves. You and I are going to have the

best treat this evening that London can provide. But I think that, now

you've come, I'll do my duty first, and then throw myself into the

pleasure without alloy. What's his address?"

"Whose address?"

"Mr. Barradine's."

"How do you mean? His address here, in London?"