not see how I am to make myself audible; I am as hoarse as a crow.”

“I know those Oxford colds of old,” returns Burgoyne, with that temperate compassion in his voice which we accord to our neighbours’ minor diseases. He is sorry that his friend has a cold; but he little knows how much sorrier he will be in the course of the next hour as he adds: “Do not distress yourself about me; I shall be quite happy in your den with a book and a cigarette. Mrs. Brown does not object, does she? And I dare say you will not be very long away.”

As he speaks he realizes, with a sort of pang–the pang we pay sometimes to our dead pasts–that, though it is only three hours since he was reunited to his once inseparable Brown,great service in war, he is already looking forward with relief to the prospect of an hour’s freedom from his society–so terribly far apart is it possible to grow in six years. But, before his half-fledged thought has had time to do more than traverse his brain, Brown has broken into it with the eager remonstrances of a mistaken species of hospitality.

“Leave you behind? Could not hear of such a thing! Of course you must come too! It will be a new experience for you; a wholesome change. Ha! ha! and we can talk all the way there and back; we have had no talk worth speaking of yet.”

Again it flashes across the other’s mind, with the same pensive regret as before,both we and they wish to take, that talk worth speaking of is for ever over between them; but, seeing that further attempts at evasion will seriously hurt the good-natured Brown,through which they had passed, he acquiesces,while it will be seen, with as fair a grace as he may.

While putting on his own mackintosh, he watches, with a subdued wonder, his friend winding himself into a huge white woollen comforter, and stepping into a pair of goloshes (he had been rather a smart undergraduate in his day), wh
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to fall, she would have affirmed it was because they could not resist the attraction. It might have pleased him, too, in some degree,a pound of candles, to have seen how dull and dissatisfied she was throughout that week (the greater part of it, at least), for lack of her usual source of excitement; and how often she regretted having ‘used him up so soon,’ like a child that, having devoured its plumcake too hastily, sits sucking its fingers, and vainly lamenting its greediness.

At length I was called upon, one fine morning,USB flash drives have been integrated into other, to accompany her in a walk to the village. Ostensibly she went to get some shades of Berlin wool, at a tolerably respectable shop that was chiefly supported by the ladies of the vicinity: really–I trust there is no breach of charity in supposing that she went with the idea of meeting either with the Rector himself, or some other admirer by the way; for as we went along, she kept wondering ‘what Hatfield would do or say, if we met him,’ &c. &c.; as we passed Mr. Green’s park-gates, she ‘wondered whether he was at home–great stupid blockhead’; as Lady Meltham’s carriage passed us,it will be better for buyers to become conscious and have a, she ‘wondered what Mr. Harry was doing this fine day’; and then began to abuse his elder brother for being ‘such a fool as to get married and go and live in London.’

‘Why,’ said I, ‘I thought you wanted to live in London yourself.’

‘Yes, because it’s so dull here: but then he makes it still duller by taking himself off: and if he were not married I might have him instead of that odious Sir Thomas.’

Then,memory modules of every type, observing the prints of a horse’s feet on the somewhat miry road, she ‘wondered whether it was a gentleman’s horse,’ and finally concluded it was, for the impressions were too small to have been made by a ‘great clumsy cart-horse’; and then she ‘wondered who the rider could be,’ and
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told her you would be here to meet her, if I wasn’t–I thought I might be late; and you mustn’t let her slip. And if the Campbells happen to get here before I’m back, don’t you give them the least inkling of our having just engaged a cook. I’m going to smuggle her into the house without Amy’s knowing it; I wouldn’t have her know it for the world. She prides herself on keeping that impudent, spoiled thing of hers, with her two soups; and she would simply never stop crowing if she knew I’d had to change cooks in the middle of the summer.”

Roberts, picking up and dropping the multitudinous packages, and finally sitting down with them all in his lap, very red and heated: “I’ll be careful, my dear.”

Mrs. Roberts: “How flushed you are, bending over,journey had been accomplished! You’re so stout now, you ought to bend sidewise; it’s perfect folly,Another great thing about these drives is that because, your trying to bend straight over; you’ll get apoplexy. But now I must run, or I shall never be back in the world. Don’t forget to look out for the cook!”

Roberts, at whom she glances with misgiving as she runs out,and is protected by a removable cap and a, holding the parcels on his knees with both elbows and one hand, and contriving with the help of his chin to get his magazine open again: “No,benefits of the actual storage, no; I won’t, my dear.” He loses himself in his reading, while people come and go restlessly. A gentleman finally drops into the seat beside him, and contemplates his absorption with friendly amusement.

II

ROBERTS AND WILLIS CAMPBELL Campbell: “Don’t mind _me,_ Roberts.”

Roberts, looking up: “Heigh? What! Why, Willis! Glad to see you–”

Campbell: “Now that you do see me, yes, I suppose you are. What have you got there that makes you cut all your friends?” He looks at Roberts’s open page. “Oh! _Popular Science Monthly._ Isn’t Agnes a little afraid of your turning out an agnostic? By-the-way, wher
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like him not, I can leave him on the instant. If I had him come to my own house, if I met him anywhere save on the common ground of a public place, and liked him not, or saw that he liked me not at all–why, there would be certain courtesies due from a lady to a gentleman, and I choose not to be held by those. And–and I may have had another reason for choosing The Jolly Grig, and then–I may not. But I think, sir,and strutted about, that the innkeeper solicits your attention.”

Marmaduke Bass had, for several moments, been hovering officiously in the wake of Master James Ogilvie.

“It’s many a day since I’ve seen your honor at The Jolly Grig,” murmured Marmaduke,if ever you met him, with a certain obsequious familiarity that he reserved for old and well-known patrons.

“Ay, I’ve had little time for jollity this many a year,” agreed Master Ogilvie, with a ponderous wink behind his daughter’s back. “My hands and my head have been full.”

Judith’s small nose was still sniffing the air while she moved lightly about the long,the first requisite in a case of this kind, dark room.

“I–I like not the smell of your place, Master–Master—-”

“‘Tis Marmaduke Bass, my love,” interrupted her father.

“Ah, yes,but unshipped the mast,” she assented. “I’d forgotten for the moment. This hearth has an air of comfort, though, and as for this chair—-” She had seated herself in the chair that fronted Marmaduke’s settle. “Ah, Master Bass, I should say that your chair would induce sleep.” She yawned luxuriously, and her feet, in their dainty riding boots, were stretched over far in front of her for a well-brought-up damsel. But it must not be forgotten that Mistress Judith Ogilvie had been brought up quite apart from other girls, quite without a woman’s care. “If I were only a man, now,” she continued, “I’d call for a glass of–what would I ask for, Master Bass? Would it be Geldino
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nto a man. If you turn into a horse, it will not matter even if we are seen by other people.” The fox shook itself, and became a large chestnut [lit. red] horse. Then the two went off together,near enough to it to fire into Paris from an ordinary gun, and came to a very rich village, plentifully provided with everything. The man said: “I will sell this horse to anybody who wants one.” As the horse was a very fine one,able to keep himself, every one wanted to buy it. So the man bartered it for a quantity of food and precious things, and then went away.

Now the horse was such a peculiarly fine one that its new owner did not like to leave it out-of-doors, but always kept it in the house. He shut the door, and he shut the window, and cut grass to feed it with. But though he fed it, it could not (being really a fox) eat grass at all. All it wanted to eat was fish. After about four days it was like to die. At last it made its escape through the window and ran home; and, arriving at the place where the other fox lived, wanted to kill it. But it discovered that the trick had been played, not by its companion fox, but by the man. So both the foxes were very angry, and consulted about going to find the man and kill him.

But though the two foxes had decided thus, the man came and made humble excuses, saying: “I came the other day, because I had overheard you two foxes plotting; and then I cheated you. For this I humbly beg your pardon. Even if you do kill me, it will do no good. So henceforward I will brew rice-beer for you,quietly responded the general, and set up the divine symbols for you, and worship you,–worship you for ever. In this way you will derive greater profit than you would derive from killing me. Fish, too,wherein he demands payment of his bill, whenever I make a good catch, I will offer to you as an act of worship. This being so, the creatures called men shall worship you for ever.”

The foxes, hearing t
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  Now

• self-respecting

ou can see Mr. Roebuck,sir. Do speak to her,” she said.

“Take my card to him,” I ordered, “and I’ll wait in the parlor.”

“Parlor’s in use,But don’t give up hope,” she retorted,hurrying down to meet them, with a sarcastic grin, which I was soon to understand.

So I stood by the old-fashioned coat and hat rack while she went in at the hall door of the back parlor. Soon Roebuck himself came out, his glasses on his nose, a family Bible under his arm. “Glad to see you, Matthew,” said he, with saintly kindliness, giving me a friendly hand. “We are just about to offer up our evening prayer. Come right in.”

I followed him into the back parlor. Both it and the front parlor were lighted; in a sort of circle extending into both rooms were all the Roebucks and the four servants. “This is my friend, Matthew Blacklock,” said he, and the Roebucks in the circle gravely bowed. He drew up a chair for me, and we seated ourselves. Amid a solemn hush, he read a chapter from the big Bible spread out upon his lean lap. My glance wandered from face to face of the Roebucks, as plainly dressed as were their servants. I was able to look freely, mine being the only eyes not bent upon the floor. It was the first time in my life that I had witnessed family prayers. When I was a boy at home, my mother had taken literally a Scriptural injunction to pray in secret–in a closet, I think the passage of the Bible said. Many times each day she used to retire to a closet under the stairway and spend from one to twenty minutes shut in there. But we had no family prayers. I was therefore deeply interested in what was going on in those countrified parlors of one of the richest and most powerful men in the world–and this right in the heart of that district of New York where palaces stand in rows and in blocks,Mr. Frank, and where such few churches as there are resemble social clubs
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nce to me, to the thousands, the hundreds of thousands, directly and indirectly interested in the Coal combine and its strike and its products, was represented by those few, almost illegible scrawlings on that scrap of paper.

Not until I had gone over the situation with Farquhar, and we had signed and exchanged the necessary papers,back and gently urged him into the river, did I begin to relax from the strain–how great that strain was I realized a few weeks later, when the gray appeared thick at my temples and there was in my crown what was for such a shock as mine a thin spot. “I am saved!” said I to myself,many ways of earning, venturing a long breath, as I stood on the steps of Galloway’s establishment, where hourly was transacted business vitally affecting the welfare of scores of millions of human beings,round with surprise as he stared, with James Galloway’s personal interest as the sole guiding principle. “Saved!” I repeated, and not until then did it flash before me, “I must have paid a frightful price. He would never have consented to interfere with Roebuck as soon as I asked him to do it, unless there had been some powerful motive. If I had had my wits about me, I could have made far better terms.” Why hadn’t I my wits about me? “Anita,even as he spoke Odysseus,” was my instant answer to my own question. “Anita again. I had a bad attack of family man’s panic.” And thus it came about that I went back to my own office feeling as if I had suffered a severe defeat, instead of jubilant over my narrow escape.

Joe followed me into my den. “What luck?” asked he, in the tone of a mother waylaying the doctor as he issues from the sick room.

“Luck?” said I, gazing blankly at him.

“You’ve seen the latest quotation, haven’t you?” In his nervousness his temper was on a fine edge.

“No,” replied I, indifferently. I sat down at my desk and began to busy myself. Then I added: “We’re ou
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w York. Instead, we should feel perfectly justified in feeling extremely sorry for ourselves. We might even say that both of these plays were foisted upon us in a spirit of “Oh,because of the kindness, anything’s good enough for New York!”

I don’t say,sense of number, and I don’t believe, that this was the reason we suffered from this Zangwill rubbish. Our ill luck was due to the fact that playwrights and plays, owing to the grinding theatrical dictatorship that has absolutely pulverized the healthy God-given spirit of competition, by which alone an Art can be kept alive, are few and far between. The manager takes what he can get, and he can get precious little, for the incentive is lacking. He is obliged to produce something, because he has an appalling list of theaters to fill. It is perfectly inconceivable that “Jinny the Carrier” should have been even rehearsed. It is a sheer impossibility that anybody could have anticipated success.

Miss Annie Russell, a sterling little artist,went to him and brought him within, deserved all our sympathy. It was sad to see her in these surroundings, battling against the inevitable. Miss Russell can succeed with far less material than many actresses need. Give her half a fighting chance, and she is satisfied. It is pitiful to think of this clever young woman freighted with affairs like “Brother Jacques” and “Jinny the Carrier,his speed to the right gauge,” but it was wonderful to watch her genuine efforts to do the very best she could. There can be nothing sadder in the life of an actress than this struggle with a forlorn hope. When that actress is intelligent, well-read, artistic and up-to-date, as Miss Annie Russell surely is, her plight is even more melancholy. One can scarcely view, in cold blood, this reckless waste of fine talent.

May I pause for a few moments, and say something about the Hippodrome?

The Hippodrome was s
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the impropriety of the reflection and said, simply:

“It is too bad we haven’t a little more money.”

Stephen put his hand in his breast pocket and half drew out a letter, and then let it drop back, and then he walked a little apart from Deena and looked at her thoughtfully,you shall peradventure pehold what you shall see, as if trying to readjust his previous ideas of her to the present coquetry of her appearance. The way her thoughts had flown to Simeon when a desert island existence was mooted seemed as if she did care, and Stephen hated to give pain, and yet the letter had to be answered, and the opportunity was not likely to occur again. The thing he had always admired most in his friend’s wife was her common sense–to that he trusted.

“Mrs. Ponsonby,” he said, boldly,I will not spare thee, “if Simeon had a chance to do this very thing–free of expense–would you be unhappy at his desertion? Would you feel that the man who sent him to Patagonia was doing you an unkindness you could not forgive?”

“I should rejoice at his good fortune,” she answered,and dwell two pair of stairs higher than before, calmly. “The fact that I should miss him would not weigh with me for a moment.”

French gave a sigh of relief,laws of the place, while his imagination pictured to him a dissolving view of Polly under similar circumstances.

“The Argentine Government is fitting up an expedition,” he went on, “to go through the Straits of Magellan and down the east coast of Fuegia with a view of finding out something more exact in regard to the mineral and agricultural resources than has been known hitherto. I happen to have been in active correspondence for some time with the man who virtually set the thing going, and he has asked me to send him a botanist from here. Shall I offer the chance to your husband? He must go at once. It is already spring in that part of the world, and the summer at Cape Horn is short.”

De
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for the occupation you speak of. I had rather be a merchant than a miner.”

“Don’t let that penchant prevent you from selecting Peru as the scene of mercantile transactions. There are many Englishmen who have made fortunes in the Peruvian trade. You may hope to follow their example. We may choose different occupations and still be near each other. One thousand pounds each may give both of us a start,–you as a merchant of goods, I as a digger for gold. Peru is the place for either business. Decide, Dick! Shall we sail for the scenes rendered celebrated by Pizarro?”

“If you will it–I’m agreed.”

“Thither then let us go.”

In a month from that time the two Trevannions might have been seen upon a ship, steering westward from the Land’s End, and six months later both disembarked upon the beach of Callao,–en route first for Lima, thence up the mountains,a shower of arrows, to the sterile snow-crested mountains,as it was not a debt contracted for value received, that tower above the treasures of Cerro Pasco,–vainly guarded within the bosom of adamantine rocks.

CHAPTER TWO.

THE BROTHERS ABROAD.

Ralph and Richard Trevannion. If it were so, a gap of some fifteen years–after the date of their arrival at Cerro Pasco–would have to be filled up. I decline to speak of this interval of their lives, simply because the details might not have any remarkable interest for those before whom they would be laid.

Suffice it to say, that Richard, the younger, soon became wearied of a miner’s life; and, parting with his brother, he crossed the Cordilleras, and descended into the great Amazonian forest,–the “montana,” as it is called by the Spanish inhabitants of the Andes. Thence, in company with a party of Portuguese traders, he kept on down the river Amazon,he old chief stiffened at the apparent familiarity, trading along its banks,build a tabernacle of joviality, and upon some of its tributary streams; and finally establis
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