The Project Gutenberg eBook of Splashing Into Society

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Title: Splashing Into Society

Author: Iris Barry

Release date: September 11, 2019 [eBook #60276]

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPLASHING INTO SOCIETY ***

SPLASHING INTO

SOCIETY

SPLASHING INTO

SOCIETY

BY

IRIS BARRY

NEW YORK

E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

681 FIFTH AVENUE

Copyright, 1923

By E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

All Rights Reserved

Printed in the United States of America

CHAPTER ONE

Such were the stranes that smote the air as Mr. Harold Withersquash drew near to the humbel home of his Selia. She was just a low born girl but none could beat her at playing the piano.

Mr. Withersquash mutered: “She will do,” and wrapt the door with a clatter.

Now Selia’s ma had shortly done her days wash, being Tuesday, and she came and opened the door in a forbidable stile, not being in the best of moods.

“What is it now?” snapt she at our hero, and sniffled in her nose, for she was a rum lady and corshus as well as cross.

“Ah, good-morning, good-morning,” lisped Mr. Withersquash in rather a sloppy mode for to make no mystery she had cut the land from his feet by her plane ways.

“Selia!” the good woman borled, “Come on out and never mind your hair-curlers, it’s only young Withersquash again.” She knew no better than to be so plane, not having edducation.

“Dezist moddam,” cried Mr. Withersquash, “and list. My unckle Burt is dead!”

“Him dead, well I never!” the chaste ample matron replied with a kindly twist at her handsom broch of platted hares, “What ever next!”

But now the delicious Selia pushed past her ma’s elbow, she was a fair rose of Briton, rather false hair like we see advertised, her somewhat perfect nose would scarse be noticed to have been turned up, owing to sleeping on her stomache, and she wore a nice dress of white embrery, a good few broches and some yellow stockings.

“Your unckle dead?” she asked.

Mr. Withersquash grappling her hand in fierce welcome of joy, replied: “Yes, and he has left me a good bit.”

“Ah, Harold!” cried our young heroine pushing more forward, “are you in truth rich?”

“Well, not so bad,” our little gentleman replied. “I am quite well to do.”

Selia’s ma now stept off to think this news over.

“Go on!” uttered Selia in amaze.

“True as I stand here,” ansered Mr. Withersquash making himself very important.

“Well, what of it?” said she, for if Selia had a motto it was no nonsense.

“Well,” he said, “I thought as you and me are a bit third class why not lets go to some places and get into socierty and have a run for our money,” and he slapt his manly bosom, although that was only his way, for he was but a paltry figure as see in the illustrations, and emploid at the 6½d. bazaar, nuff said.

“When shall we start?” said Selia, after she had pondered speedily, for she was one to loose no time.

“Ah, you will dane to come, will you?” cried the joyous Mr. Withersquash, and he added: “We might perhaps get wed later on, eh?” with a meaning wink.

“Ma, ma!” cried Selia tripping within. “Mr. Withersquash and me are going off to get into socierty, pray pack my attire,” for Selia was always nice in her speech when folks were about.

While her Ma packed a bag, the young pair chatered together while Selia wrote a few notes to the boys by way of regret, for she was a popular girl, and Mr. Withersq stuck the stamps on.

It was a largish bag in which her Ma packed her garments, which had been good in its time, and she put in a nightdress very litel soiled as the washing was not yet aired not to say ironed, still it had some ribbons in. Also she slipped in a nice toothbrush with green jelly handle, some smelling sope with flannel for the neck, and an amusing book to read in bed, entittled Peep of Day as even she knew that it is very smart to read a bit in bed.

“Fare well, my child,” she uttered with a tear or two yet smiling at the offspring of her lions. “And maybe you’ll have changed your name when we meet again. There’s as good fish in the sea, you know what I mean,” adding a sidefaced skowl at Mr. Withersq who truth to say she didnt set much store by, nor Selia neither at that time. But the ma thought if her girl could only get out into socierty all would be well.

Off they went with a wave of the hand to the adventers in our next.

CHAPTER TWO

“Where in deauce shall we start?” said Mr. Withersq when they got round the corner. “We might suitably have a taxi to start off with.”

“Indeed yes,” simpered Selia as to the manner born, with a good pull at her garters, at which the perfunctery Mr. Withersq ran into the road and he soon found a fresh-looking taxi. The driver was rather a kindly man with frizzled beard.

“Now my man, drive us about through some smart places,” said our hero, blowing in his cheeks and breathing, but he really felt rather little because of not yet knowing his way about the town.

“How would you care for an airing around Kensington, for that is a good part my lord,” said the taxi man.

Mr. Withersq replied “Certenly, certenly, my good man,” and with a wink of glee at each other he and his dear wench Selia popped into the motor.

“What a whiz,” yelled Mr. Withersq as they poured through the streets.

When they arrived in Kensington, Mr. Withersq tossed the man some money in silver very lordly, so he drove off highly gratifyed.

They had a look round.

“This is a bit slow,” said Selia, “I dont think this is hardly society. Where we live is very like, only less dogs and the prams not so sparkly.” For on every side beneath the trees spanking nurses trundled smart prams tidily followed by neatly brushed dogs. It was indeed smart, but of rather a nursery sort, and not what our pair were out after.

“Indeed things are a bit slow in Kensington,” replyed Mr. Withersq. “I tell you what,” he went on, “we might go to a party.”

“We do not know any,” said Selia, she was a bit waxy with the vexation and her shoes had a stone in.

“You know my brother?” asked Mr. Withersq in a honey tone.

“Such folly” snapt Selia, “he isnt the class to know any partys!”

“Ah,” blushed our hero with a smile, “that’s were your wrong, for he cleans for the best, so there.”

“What of it” she snapt, “once a window-cleaner always a window-cleaner, and you know well enough that such as him dont go to partys.”

“This is what of it,” snortled he, for truth to tell he little liked her scorn. “This is what of it. My brother tells me there’s a monstrous party tonight at where he cleaned yesterday, with tittled ladys in galore and knites and what not for the asking, not forgetting writers and painters and such like.”

“We might try our luck,” said Selia feeling a bit put down, so on they stept to Soho and egerly ran into H—— Street. When they got there, it was the house where Mr. Withersquashes brother had cleaned, and there was a piece of spotted carpet out on the footwark, and you ran up it to the door. The door was opened and they went in. Selia settled her hat on the stares, it was one of those kind that slip and sniggle your hair which is so vexing as it was rather too large, being a real Paris shapoh left behind by one of her ma’s lodgers.

O what a bozz of merry crowds from above. O what a time for our little heros, but Selia muttered in her throte: “Such is not for any likes of us.” Even the galant Mr. Withersquash was half making off, until slapping the cash in his trouzers pockets with a fine rattel, he tucked Selia’s elboe in his, and burst into the room. The babbel ceased, all eyes glowed upon them.

“My name is Withersquash and this young lady is Selia,” he cried very loud. “My unckel Burt is dead, he has left me a good bit. Is it all right?”

“Oh how charming,” cried the assembly in shrilly tones and all pressed forward to stare closer.

They were indeed fine. The ladys in all manners of colours chiefly oringe and green idly sipped up rich wine from some mugs, many smoked without a stop, there were arms and backs and fronts all bare, some frocks with tails to them, and some dames wore trouzer things, very bright and sloppy, much to Mr. Withersquashes surprise. Several kinds of men were dotted about, some in evening close, some like soldiers and many with long locks or pale fat face as though in grief which were the artists. The walls however were done up very high class in coloured paints and not at all how you would expect in gentlepeoples places. Such were the scene and the lights were low.

“And how much did your dead unckle leave?” kindly asked a magnificent man of foreign stile.

“Oh a few millions,” replied Mr. Withersquash.

At that the assembly seemed quite cordiel and all pressed forward to shake hands. A gent in kaki drew Selia to a well-stuffed couch altho eyeing her white embrey dress in amaze and embracing her politely began to have a nice chat. Mr. Withersq on the other hand when he saw it was the thing, after a litel also embrased a few of the lushous women one by one, but now and then he gave a good wink of glee over their shoulders to Selia.

“Ha, ha,” he thought to himself. “Money always talks.”

Now the gent who had asked Mr. Withersq how much his unckle left came up to the sofa on which Selia sat, and leaning on its stuffed arm, bent and smiled in her eye.

For this the gent in kaki frowned aside, gnawing his lip for he had little or no moustache to do it with.

“You have the advantage of me!” cried Selia coyly to this new face, to which the foreign newcomer replied in a damp voice: “I am Tzpcham, the times plastick avetar.”

“How nice!” replied Selia, brightly, at which he smiled faintly, so she felt they were getting on. She was always one to want to quickly pick up the tricks was Selia.

“My name is Selia,” she added, with a soft giggle for his sake.

But now a dazzling noble with diamond studs and slippery shoes in a hard-boiled front like you see in laundrys came up murmuring “Pleasure!” and then gripping Selia round the back, stood her on her feet. Once more the gramyphone struck up, and they began to jig about to its notes, as happily Selia guest when stood on her feet that this was the thing to do. She could not dance very well, but it did not matter as there was little room to do more than shuffel.

“Isnt she charming,” cried the ladys which made Mr. Withersq burn with pride. Not to be outdone he seezed the largest lady round the centre. She had a silk stocking tied round her head, which is very smart for evening wear, and they began to have a bit of a caper also, and cries of approval arose in a polite way from all assembeled.

“What a pant!” yelled Mr. Withersq, but he kept at it, knowing that to dance was the craze of the hour. Round and round they went, and more and more couples joined in until all jammed together they trudged and shuffled to the music in the hot room.

When they at last stopt all out of breath and gasping, the lights got a bit lower and the largest lady what he had since popt on a chair got up and stood in the centre of the room but all the others sat down on the floor or the sofars and lapped up some more wine to take the dust out of their throats.

The fat lady now undid her flowing cape and dropped it down, very lighthearted, draped as she was in a quantity of muslin, rather limp perhaps, but striking, and then she took off her slippers, and already having no stockings on was now barefoot and began to dance and show off in the middel of the room, tied round the haunch with gold stuff, and waggeled and bobbed herself about to the notes of the gramafone.

“Ecquisist,” howled the crowd of lovely folk, “What form divine!”

“What is she at?” growled Mr. Withersq for to tell the truth he felt a bit queer, this being in the nature of a surprise, and hoping that this was not a thing to copy, not feeling too sure of the last time he washed his feet.

“Hussssh!” hissed a shriveled dowager beside him, “it is her art.”

Now the fat lady at last ceased dancing and sank down, and a beaky-nosed sort of gentleman cried out: “Our newly-come friend Withersq does not seem to understand.”

“Dont be a soft!” cried Selia, for she had guest he had put his foot in it by his remark, remembering what her ma had taught her that no true ladys and gentlemen ever took notice or seemed amazed but took things as in a dream without saying much.

Now while all this turmoil went on, the ladys cried several times “How two to!” and “Arent they two sweet?” and “Oh, no!” like a perfect choir, which Selia and Mr. Withersq hardly knew how to take.

The sharpnosed gent before long rose to his feet with a bored sniff.

“Art, my dear friend, is but a long sigh for the beautiful and great,” he drorled, and bursting into tears he left the room and was seen no more, and the ladys said he was charming too.

Selia now ventured to wisper to the young person beside her on the floor: “Why did he cry? What has he done wrong?”

“Oh, dont ask me, I am only a meer countess and no nothing of artists and their ways,” this beauty replied with an haughty smirk.

“I see,” politely said Selia, although she did not really, but feeling very improved to be on speaking terms with a countess so soon.

And now came another nice little event. The man Tzpcham having quaft several bouts of the costly wines sudenly stept forward tossing back his hairs and then like a conjurer he pulled from his coat a thing like a football stuck on one side of a plate, only all made in one out of stone, and it was really a statue. It was a surprise for Selia and Mr. Withersq, as they had only seen statues before that were like people.

“It is my latest,” cried Tzpcham, and the brite ladys and the men bent and cooed round it making noises of pleasure.

“All art is the round getting the best of the plain,” said he then in a gloomy way shaking his head.

“How too true!” cried Selia gushingly, for she was a quick girl and had picked up this smart saying by now, and drew murmurs of admiration from all beholders.

By this time of night, all the assembly had drunk many drinks and so very soon they lay down in ordely heaps and pairs on the floor or the sofars to sleep it off, and when Selia and Mr. Withersquash had said their prayers they lay down too, Selia with her head softly rested on her bag, and dropped quickly off to sleep very well pleased with the way they had got on, and that was the end of the party.

CHAPTER THREE

In the morning it was Selia that woke Mr. Withersq.

“Come on Harold,” she said rising from her makeshift couch, “we know some art now, lets make a move.”

“My pet,” cried the delited Mr. Withersq, “You have called me Harold. Ah me ah me how fondly I love your charms,” and so he picked up Selia’s bag, and they went out stepping over the countess and ran into the street. Selia still a little red from her blush at Mr. Withersquashes warm words of passion.

“What about a bit of food?” she said to change the subject.

“Ah, now I will give you a fair treet,” cried Mr. Withersq brindling with glee, “for indeed I love you at last Selia and you shall ate of the best now Unckle Burt is dead.”

“Pray how shall such as us know where to eat of the best?” scoffed Selia lightly for she had yet to learn how to treet a good noble man with properness.

“Now dont be snappy,” said Mr. Withersq who was not to be put down so easily. “It was a baroness herself last night who asked me if I offen went to the Mauve Loft, and she said it was ripping, so not so much of your scorn if you please.” So you see even our devoted Mr. Withersq could turn, which is not to be surprised at seeing he had unbroken his fast.

“What is the Mauve Loft?” snapped Selia, “what kind of a place I ask. Fletchers I know, and the Dad goes to Pim’s when he back’s a good ’un, but what is a Loft? Tell me that!”

“It is where you eat if you are smart” responded her Harold. “You should know by now that the upper ten call their eating places by names, like dogs or pubs. Have you not yet heard of the ‘Spotted Eel?’ at Chelsy? Nor the ‘Monkey Puzzel’ at the Scrubs? Tush, Selia, pull your socks up my good girl.”

They strode forward in glassy silence.

When they got there it was over some stable-places in Piccadilly and they went up the ladder and tapt. A totally black nigger let them in and bowed, and they entered and Mr. Withersq giggled the cash in his trowsers for all he was worth as was by now his lucky custom.

It was a terrific abode painted a purpel colour which looked very nice. And across the mantelpece was printed very big

LIFT UP YOUR HEARTS

which I think is from Shakespeare.

There was hundreds and dozens of waiters all totally black teeming about the room, and all along the floor stood a great tabel like in pictures of the last supper. Many smart people sat rather sprawly at it and listened to the words of a man very similar looking to those Mr. Withersq and Selia had beholded the night before at the party. And meanwhile they chewed their food. Also several young ladys some soberly in round black specs but some also a bit dashing with scarlet lips and several oldish ones too, all lolled on the table on elbows and smoking like chimneys.

As our coupel entered they turned of course and had a good stare but said nothing, not knowing them. Nothing abashed Mr. Withersq beckoned a couple of black waiters to bring the food list which they did.

He chose a good few of the dearest things, trusting to be correct, and they sat down at the foot of the table, hoping to chum up quickly.

The waiters brought first some halfs of fruits like lemons only bigger on plates but Selia hated hers and popt it under the tabel.

“Bring me some grilled kidneys and look sharp,” she commanded very grandly.

Now all this time she and Mr. Withersq had been shuffling on their seats and making a few friendly grimaces toward the large party lower down the tabel, and doing such tricks as half smiles and looking as if they were going to nod in a tick. Yet the cold hump was all they got from that crowd gathered around the faint-looking man in the centre.

“You cant hardly say we’re making much of a hit here,” said Selia crossly: “You should have said your unckle Burt was dead. Try and get the nasty stuck up lot to talk, wont you?”

So at this Mr. Withersq mustered his heart up a bit and rapt on the tabel with a spoon until all looked towards him. “Hallo” he said to them all. “My unckle Burt being dead has left me a few millions so why not be sports and chum up, eh?”

Oh what an icy bath our little friends then got from the stares of those ladys and men.

“I am Boom,” said the faint-looking man stroking his long hair with unction. “I do not think you are one of us. You do not understand.”

“O come!” cried our hero, getting his back up a bit although Selia was tramping on his feet under the festive board’s legs. “We are quite new to the game, I know, but for all that we know a countess or two. Be a sport old chappy. Let me tell the blackie to get you a coffee if you dont care for anything stronger.”

He thought those were two safe things to say, but he was also puzzeled by their looks towards him and more towards Selia whose rayment was so utterly not like theirs, and more so that her white robe was a bit dashed-looking with the rough night she had had.

“Ah,” cried the young ladies in a voice like pidgeons, and the old ladies and the man. “How balderdash!” And they turned their faces away.

Selia let fall a scalding tear and ordered some pooched eggs to keep up her strength. At which Mr. Boom and his attending ladies got up hortily and stamped out very conseated which upset our couple largely.

“Bear up sir,” cried a black waiter kindly. “It is only their way being a school of poetry.”

“Oh,” cried Selia blowing her nose, “I would like to go to such a school, wouldnt you, Harold, though not to their nasty stuck up one, eh?”

“In sooth, yes,” he answered with effervessence. “It would be very useful to us I am sure, to deal with such strumpets and aristocracy.”

“Ah, sir, if you will excuse me,” put in the waiter now beaming like a holy angel with his sooty features. “You will soon be all right. There are just the little matters like eating and that which are very catchy and the right words to say.”

“You see this lot thats just gone out are all very artful people, who speak to no one but print little books of their poems all the while, and wont sell them to anybody at all, and that makes them very slippery customers to deal with, as no one knows what they are really at, and mean too,” he added, looking beneath their plates where a solitary sixpence graced the deserted board.

“Take that my good negro” cried Mr. Withersq slipping a green paper money in his quaintly coloured palm.

So when they had looked up an address in the book, they set out for a nice school where to learn poetry and so climb.

CHAPTER FOUR

There was the bust of a dog in the front yard of the school of poetry and the door was pink.

“You ask,” said Harold Withersq to Selia his love. “For this is a bit of a treat for you,” so she rang the brass bell and got her mouth ready to pop the question to the serving maids. A grand old woman in a white pinny came and opened.

“Pray conduct us to your owner,” said Selia in a wonderful chic voice. “We have come to join the school.”

The woman showed them into a white hall with two rows of littel coloured pictures painted on glass of chinamen and tigers very bright and instructing hung all down the sides. Mr. Withersq now puffed himself out ready for the encounter. The old lady bobbed on before them down the white hall to a large chamber like a chapel with gold-edged pictures, some of Nude in galore, and twenty grown up young people sat in desks in this hall, scribbling on slates under the watching eye of a bald man mounted up on a littel platform at the top. All the bottom on his face was beard and his mouth made you laugh when he talked like looking at a person’s mouth talking upside down. And he had glasses with brown rims and ear-bits very costly and wise looking.

The twenty pupils raised their heads and stared.

Mr. Withersq stept boldly up to the teacher and laid a pound note on his desk.

“I have been insulted,” he cried waving his arms a little though not much out of respect, “my unckle Burt is dead and has left me a good bit. This is my girl Selia.”

Selia gave a bow and muttered pleased to meet you.

“We are seeing life,” Mr. Withersq went on after this little interruption. “We have been to a party and danced and slept with the very creme of London, baronnesses and what not, and yet not an hour ago I was insulted. The creture that is called Boon gave me the bird and my Selia too, because he is so proud to be a poet. Make me a poet, make my lady a poet too if you can, and I will pay you well and pay them out.”

“That will do,” said the teacher. “You arent allowed to have quarrels before you’ve been printed so you both sit down and see what you can do.”

So they sat down both and had a stare at the others. They were again mostly like the beings at the party, but more younger men very drooping in figgur and unshorn heads, some of whom munched drugs out of boxes while they worked, to keep their spirits up.

“They look a bit half-baked,” Selia remarked to Mr. Withersq and drew a frown from the teacher.

“Write me now a good poem to the bakers horse” shouted he from his littel platform tossing slates to Selia and Mr. Withersq and all present began to scribble and squeek on the slates at which the good teacher pluckt hairs from his beard and smiled in a nodding sort of way like a grandma. Selia and Harold gave a sorry look at each other not knowing how to put bakers horses into poetry and thinking up till then that poetry was all rich like creamy cakes with love and nobel roman deaths for the schools they had went to taught nothing else. So they dotted down a few words hoping to pass in the crush.

Selia wrote:—

Oh horse of the daily baker

What brings bread,

I prefer your litel rolls

With hot butter.

Have you your blinkers

Because of a secret

Or to keep the oats ears from your wet eyes

When you munch in your nosebag?

Why is that

Oh horse?

and left it at that.

The other pupils were scratching away on every side and she began to have douts and very likely as not she ought to have gone to a lower class but the teacher had guest by the air of her hat that she knew more than she did.

“Isn’t this a go?” whispered Mr. Withersq to her. “I cant half write poems, Selia, you just wait,” for he guest he had put his foot on the road to success.

“How perfect dear Harold” she whispred a bit madly for she had made a mess of it herself. “You can indeed shine before the duchesses and perhaps that will do the trick. You wont forget me then will you, dear Harold?” For she was if anything even keener than him to get on, and did not want to be left behind, for though she knew how the millions helpt she guest there was more to it than that.

“Bring up your slates my poor clods of pupils,” cried the teacher looking vext.

Two girls in gowns of patterns like chair covers swooned off, which was very successful and nicely done.

“That’s the emoshun,” a snaky-faced chap whispered behind his hand to Selia.

Another chap who might have been own brother to the nawseous Mr. Boon crackt his slate on his desk and scrumbled the bits on the floor.

“Sir,” he cried, “my poem is too fair for the eyes of the herd.”

The teacher pluckt his beard harder greatly taken by this swanky touch, and was going to give the prize to that chap until of a sudden Mr. Withersq sprang airily forward crying in a pulpit voice: “Read mine!”

He had wrote:—

Horse that never gallops,

Mere bakers horse, half horse

And half mare,

You belong to a baker,

You draw a cart with bread

Down the blank streets.

Growing pale with sorrow

Why not kick up your heels?

Springing on your back

I will tame you,

We will scamper to the prairies

And skin some bears.

That was the poem Mr. Withersq had wrote, he thought of it because of some cinemas he used to see.

The teacher seazed his head between his hands and beat it madly on his desk and shreiked very loud.

“Ah,” he gasped as though washing in cold water, “this is immense, this is a charming poem, ah me, ah me, it is truly wonderful!”

And he wept tears.

The other pupils oped wide their eyes, and heard him, and lept up crying “Ah yes, charming, wonderful, what forse what words what pictures what simpelness,” or something like that. Many came and kissed Mr. Withersq and burst on all sides into sobs. There never was such a scene. Selia meanwhile sat chewing her handky not knowing what to make of it though Mr. Withersq sent her a sly wink from time to time as though to say that her time was yet to come.

The teacher still beating his head on the desk now became devilishly excited and furiously rang a large hand bell which he drew from within.

“What is it, what is it?” cried Selia to the glory-smothered Mr. Withersq.

“God knows,” replyed our hero, “but I think I have done the trick.”

On the wringing of the bell feet were heard to be approaching and many doors opened in the near distance. The door burst and many clever poetry teachers of the school followed by their pupils came hurrying in and rushed at Mr. Withersq where he stood beside the teacher modestly spottled with sweat and pawing at Selia’s unwilling hand.

“A new poet, a new poet!” they all yelled, dancing with glee around the desk.

First came a man with scarlet face and flannel suit and spotted tie, rather after the fashion of those you give slips of paper to at street corners about the races. He was followed by a class of sturdy men some like sailors and some very artful looking prinking on their legs as they came, and all of these spoke bad words.

“That is the limerick class,” wispered the head teacher to Selia.

An absent faced teacher with a lock over his eyes now rushed in crying: “Where is the lad, where is he that I may press him to me?” and when with a fine gestur the head teacher pointed to Mr. Withersq this man rushed to him and hugged him up and so did the limerick chaps too after that, because the absent teacher was a very great Irish poet.

Then followed the rhyming class, very young poets these were, and after them trooped in a class mostly of bitter old fashioned ladys and a few clericels who wrote poetry deadling with the soul and Sunday. Then came an image class of more foreign appearance, who were learning how to say odd things, and their teacher was a Dane from Denmark. Then came the lot that wrote sonnets which is very tricky work, who all wore blazers and white trowsers because they had been to Oxford and their hair though curly was pleasantly soaked in smelly oils, not like the uncurbed heads of the former poets who had entered.

All these folks came busling in and many were the pleasant and curious garbs they sported, pleeted trousers, full puffy trousers, thin trousers tied under the boot, not to mention vegetated wastcoats or no wastcoats at all with very fancy shirts like ladys blouses, and all wore or carried hats such as were never I’m sure seen in Dunns, which is a hat shop.

“This is Mr. Harold Withersq,” now cried the head teacher when they had all entered, “whom our enemys Emilian Boom and company have chosed to heap insults on seeing he was a stranger. His unckle Burt is dead and has left him a good bit of money. And now he has gone and written a most wonderful poem. Our good sonnet teacher is at this moment speaking on the phone to the Minister of Education at Buckingham Palace to ask him if he will have him made our new head poet.”

“Here here,” muttered the gathering, at which the eyes of Mr. Withersq lighted up and he gave a fresh grip on Selia’s hand.

The sonnet teacher now came from the telephone.

“Well?” asked the head teacher. “What does the minister say?”

“Oh, he’s popped up stairs to ask His Majesty the King please to make Mr. Withersq head poet. I told him that Mr. Withersquashes unckle Burt is dead, so I expect it will be all right.” By this he meant that money talks.

Tinkle, tink, the telephone called out. The sonnet teacher went back to it.

All the assembly had their ears out for what he said on it.

“Hello? Oh yes, its the school of poetry. Yes. Oh, you say the King will be very glad to have a fresh poet? That’s good. I see. Goodbye!”

As he put down the hear-piece, a gruff cheer burst from the poets filling the room. The head teacher held up his hand. Silence followed.

“His Majesty the King says he could well do with a fresh poet,” he announced, “and I am sure you will all agree that our new friend Mr. Withersquash is a very suitable one for the job. I therefore here and now award him the head poet of England. Three cheers for him. Go it, boys!”

“Ah ah” they screemed. “Hurrah-hurrah-hurrah! That is charming!” All the young lady poets and all the young gentlemen poets jumped for joy because the new poet had sprung from their school.

The teachers and classes now drew in a ring round our hero clasping his Selia. The old lady servant who had opened the door to our heros now entered bearing a golden hat-box which she presented with a touching curtsy to the head teacher. He soon whipped off the lid, and drew forth an object mufled in crinkeld paper.

“Ooh!” breathed all present, sucking in their breaths.

Off came the crinkeld paper, and the bald bearded teacher drew forth a sweet little crown, all made of leaves, and bending over, slipped it on top of Mr. Withersquashes head.

“That is until his dear Majesty the King has time to ask him to the Palace,” said he and kissed him a lot very sloppy and would have kist Selia but Mr. Withersq said not.

All the crowd had a good clap and were very excited, for you see Mr. Withersq had wrote the best poem of the top class of the swankiest school of poetry in Briton and had been made head poet for his trouble which is how those things are done and they choose a new one every few years or so when the old ones get stale.

But Mr. Withersq took the bun by laying his littel crown of leaves at Selia’s feet with a low bow (not wishing to go out in the street with it on) after which he hung it on one arm, and taking Selia on the other they walked forth amid the admiring throng waving them a harty goodbye.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Now,” said Selia, “what about a bit of food?”

These words although not intended to be were overheard by two of the pupils from the school who had also come out.

“Oh pray have a snack with us” said the plumper one, “I am Gerald Majpottel and this is my brother Rupert. Our father is a lord. We are in the satire class, we write a good few poems and move among the very best.”

“In that case,” replied the hungry Selia, “we shall be delited to come thanks.”

So they slipped all four into a taxi and very soon arrived at the Majpottels house in Park Lane, a tall place with green blinds, behind whose covert pink housemaids flitted and peeped in galore, beneath the swey of a handsom butler who was proudly figetting with the blind tassel in the diningroom window.

Chucking one of the pretty housemaids under the chin Gerald Majpottel and his young brother led Mr. Withersq within and politely told them where to wash their hands.

The bathroom was on top of the stares and very smart being all lined through with pink and blue tiles. The rich looking bath was pink china, almost enough to have a swim in with a few neat texts stampt on it to wile away the time while soaking, and a pretty mat saying “BATH” to step out on to after.

“Oh, behold” cried Selia to Mr. Withersq who was doing his nails with a pin while she wiped up above the wrists. For they had the makings of good stuff although of humbel extract.

“Look dearest Harold how very chaste, in this little cupboard are the under attires of our hosts, arent they indeed smart?”

Mr. Withersq fainting with jealousy replied: “Oh Selia, they are indeed modish, how lucky we struck with them, perhaps they will teach us a few wrinkles to success.”

For in the airing cupboard by the bath reposed elegant heaps of under attire. On the right hand side beneath a little card printed “Gerald” was a great pile of blue ones made some of finest fleece and some of silk both vests and other things while behind these lurked shirts in hues of pale and bright tones very tricky indeed. On the left was a similar heep only with a card saying “Rupert” and all these were pink the same.

“See,” cried Selia, “they are all marked in sewn letters with their own names, and a little crown above. Isn’t it pretty? That is because their father is a lord you know.”

“Ah yes,” sighed he, “how too-too!” for he had caught that saying up by now. “Selia!” he went on madly, “I too must go as soon as we’ve got through the food and buy some things like theirs in dozens, and I shall have Withersquash wrote on in sewn letters being smarter than Harold. Never never before did I know the shame of only having two of everything one to wear and one to wash until I peeped into this splendid wardrobe!”

“Yes, you must indeed,” Selia agreed, “and why not have a neat little “£sd” done underneath like they have their little crowns done, that would surely be a pretty touch seeing you are a millionaire!”

“Selia, my own!” cried he, “you have said it! And it shall be done and you shall have some attire too for your pretty thought!”

She was so glad at these words that she poked about a bit more in the cupboard and what did she espy but two littler piles of close all as white as snow with a little card over them saying “Sunday.” That finished Mr. Withersq and he slid down the bannisters after her, they were so pleased with things, to the room where the Majpottels were waiting.

Five of the pink housemaids were dojjing round the table which was nice and large and full of good food in plenty.

“Pray be seated,” cried Gerald, “and fall too.” He was a nice sleek young man with black slick hair and talked as though with sweets tucked in the mouth.

So they all sat and ate beef and batter and peas for a start.

“How nice your room is,” said Selia through the food she had stuffed in her mouth.

“Is it not?” modestly replied Rupert, then he went on: “Our colours are good are not they?” at which Selia and Mr. Withersquash both nodded a good many times over and ate some more.

The room was a grand site indeed, crimson and scarlet and red and vermilion, very odd, with purpley curtains like pretty ink.

“And what do you think of our fireplace?” went on Rupert, blinking his green eyes.

It was all made of white stone carved out into dogs and monkeys and things like that with a great face in the middel, twinkley drop things of sparkling glass stood at each end of it and a gold clock in the middel under a shade.

“That is very nice,” politely replied Selia.

“Yes, it cost a good bit,” Rupert said.

He then past them some salmon done up with bits of egg and greenery and they ate that, and then some ham with hot pickels, and then some nice boiled pudding with jam on it and some frute tart with blobs of stiff cream and a few ices after (wrapped up in lace paper they were too), and some very costly kinds of fruits like aprycots and grapes which they washed down with every kind of wines and beer for as soon as Selia and Mr. Withersquash had emtied a glass of wines or beer a pink housemaid came and filled it up again, because the butler who was leaning against the wall at the back told them to. But the brothers Majpottel ate almost nothing which is a very polite thing to do, and in that case you have it in the pantry or up in your bedroom later on.

When they had eaten all they could they pushed back from the tabel and had a bit of talk.

“And are you glad now, dear Withersq that you got made head poet?” asked Rupert in a polite tired voice.

“Oh yes, that I am” said Mr. Withersq, “for I dearly want to get on.”

“And so do I,” lisped Selia “although it is not all plane sailing, alas.”

“Come, brother,” cried Rupert Majpottel to Gerald with kind condescencion. “Why not lets help this young pair.”

“Why yes,” replied Gerald, “they must fix up some more brite idears like the poetry and become famous for that is the way to shine, and get on, if you are not born to the manner.”

Mr. Withersquash was feeling a bit sick but he cheered up now and enquired the way to make the smartest baronesses and such to take notice. “You see, dear sir,” he said, “I would very much like to ask Miss Selia to become Mrs. W. but I cant very well until I know where I am, can I? Eh?”

Selia was overcome with blushes, for she had learnt to love her Harold by now, and very much fancied herself as his wife, though this was the first he had said of it.

“It is all right for you,” replied Rupert, “seeing you have come in to a good bit of money and are now the head poet, although not quite the thing in some ways if I may say so without offence.”

“Not at all,” said Mr. Withersq. “What you mean is that Selia must have her bit of success too, do you?”

“Well, yes,” said the brothers, “it is a hard world for the ladys if they are not quite the thing, and you see when a lady is a wife, she must be up to all the ways of the world else she looks a bit silly doesn’t she, and people dont come to see her you know, which is rather a bore.”

“Give us a few handy tips,” said Selia for she was not so stuck up but what she was willing to try and go one better.

“Well to begin with you must get a few clothes, such as fur coats and some nice evening togs and some long narrow shoes,” said Rupert rather thoughtfully. “If you go to a good shop the ladys there will tell you what you ought to have.”

“Why yes” said she gleefully, “Harold you shall buy me all those and some good hats and a gold-stalked umberella.”

“Certenly, certenly” replied the good Mr. Withersq.

“Then you might try talking in that boomy voice we use” Gerald took up the tale, “and try and look a bit fed up with things, you know, but that isnt really all, for you simply must be a bit of a toff at something or other and then the baronesses will notice and remember who you are which is the great idear.”

“With pleasure” replied Selia with a hiccup from the stout she had had, “but what had I better do? I am only a simple girl, and know very little.”

“What do you say to that?” Mr. Withersq asked the brothers with a scratch at his nose, “I hardly know what to suggest myself.”

“Do you sing?” Gerald asked.

“No” said Selia dully.

“Cant you do anything besides play the piano?” asked Mr. Withersq.

“Oh! The piano! Dont ever let anyone know you can play that!” warned Gerald. “That is a very low thing to do. The banjo or the cello if you like but not the rotten piano!”

“Let us think,” said Mr. Withersq. “What would be the best thing for her to do?”

“Well now, let us think then” agreed the brothers Majpottel tipping back their chairs. “There is politics but it would be too long before she got in the cabinet and perhaps also she would never get in at all. She cant very well go in for science, seeing she doesn’t know any, she cant very well become a painter nor even a dressmaker because she dont know how to dress herself. I dont really know what she can do.”

“Oh dear, oh dear!” wailed the poor girl and dropped into Mr. Withersquashes bosom for comfort, all the pride had gone out of her now.

“It’s a pity she isnt a sporty girl,” muttered Rupert half to himself for he had taken a liking to his humbel friends and could not bear to see her weep.

“What did you say?” shreiked Selia darting like an asp from Mr. Withersquashes embrace. “A sporty girl? Me? Who says I’m not? Aint I got the challenge cup for the Hoxton tennis club three years running? Aint I the best roller skatist they ever seen at Holland Park? Say I’m not sporty?”

“Tennis?” yelled Gerald and Rupert together, till one of the vanished housemaids put her head round the door thinking she was wanted.

“Yes” yelled back Selia, “and why not?”

“Hurrah! Hurrah!” the two lordly brothers cried. “That’s a good girl! You’ll be the success of the season if your pashent” and then chatter chatter they went making plans for Selia’s springing her talents on the smart world, which would make it possible for Mr. Withersq to wed her without her getting the cold shoulder as a matron.

It was settled at last that the brothers should arrange for her first appearance.

“Very well” said Selia, “thank you. You may rely on me to do my best. Come on Harold we must go to the shops.”

“Goodbye dear friends” said Gerald rising very elegantly to lead them to the door “and thank you for coming. Mind and brush up your sports now Miss Selia and get some suitable raiment for the great day and we will shew them the stuff you are made of.”

“Very good” said Selia at the door, “and you see if we dont make a splash in socierty with a vengeance.” With these words she and Mr. Withersq went off and that is all that happened there.

CHAPTER SIX

They popped quickly together into Bond Street. A tall man like a sarjent stood graveley at the door of the shop Mr. Withersq led his love to, and this tall man pretended to be undoing the door of a motor car when he saw them stopping at the door, and offered Selia his arm as if she was stepping out of her car and then led her up to the door as though she were someone although she had simply come on foot.

Once inside a lordly person in evening dress came swimming up with joined hands and said “What, please?” with a low bow.

Mr. Withersq said very loud: “Underthings” so this gentleman led them through beautiful saloons of costly goods until they got to that part.

A damzel with reddish hair gowned in trailing black satin and beads rose from a couch with a nice smile saying “What, please?” as Mr. Withersq told her. She then ran lightly up a few ladders and threw boxes down until he had chosen the kind of under things he craved from amongst these. There were garments of satin and silk and fleece all very refined and nice but Mr. Withersq chose his to be of peech pink as he thought that was rather fashenable and odd.

He then gave orders for his name and £sd in a little ring to be embroidered on all these and paying her some good few pounds proceeded to another apartment.

“Come Selia,” he cried, “we must quickly make ourselves chick.”

And so with a harty slap on the back he led her on towards the boot part of the shop.

“Show me some shoes and boots of the best” cried he smiling fondly to the lady at the boots, “this is me and my young lady Selia, we are to go in socierty and must dress the part as you doubtless no.”

So he bought a yellow pair with butons and a couple of black pairs of shoes and some white hairy ones and some red house shoes, and Selia had some shiny black shoes with dimond buckles and some pale boots and some openwork boots up the sides and some high shiny boots and some fur boots for the bedroom and satin slippers of every hugh besides stockings to match and silk all the way up at that every time and very nice to feel.

Then Mr. Withersq bought black coats both day and night with plad trouwsers for day and smooth black ones for nite and a sport suit with whiskers on it that smelt, with top hats fawn and black and a night hat that popped up and down with a snap.

Selia then got

- Velvet hats

- Lace hats

- Silk hats with stremers

- Lether hats

- Straw hats some with flowrs and fethers

- Bed hats of frills and bows

and all of these had its own privet box to be in and a lid that fitted it. While as to the robes that her loving Harold streud on her no tongue could tell for there was a high stepped lady all to themselves that taurght them what to by and for when which is the worst to know and the things piled up like greased litning till all the persons in the shop left their jobs and all the people too and the boys that wizz the lifts up and down too and all followed and stared to see so rich a man prepar his fate. He topped it all by ordering gloves by boxfuls, a fan as curly as a ostrich and under attire by wisper for his sweet, which she went into a littel privet part to chose herself.

And they went out of that shop most exceeding grand dressed all in new things scruffing their shoes on the floor to take the shiny off, carrying parcels all eyes glaring upon them and left boxes and boxes full to come on by Carter Pattisen.

“Taxi, sir?” asked the sarjent-looking man at the door bowing more low than at first.

“Yes” gruntled Mr. Withersq as the strings of his parcels cut his fingers a bit and he was sore tired.

A taxi swam up to the edge of the path and the man opened the door of it and Selia nipped in and sank down in its interiaw.

“Where to?” said the driver, which made Mr. Withersq think twice before he spoke that time.

Seeing his destress the sarjent-looking man wispered in his ear as a sugestion: “why not the Grand Palace my good sir, it is very sentral.”

So Mr. Withersq got to the point at last and ordered the taxi to go to the Grand Palace, which he did.

When they got there Mr. Withersq stumped into the hall as he had had an idear.

“Trot me out the boss!” he cried to the trembling girl in the glass desk there and she ran for him.

When he came he was fat and red.

“I am the manager” he utered.

“So?” said Mr. Withersq knowing well that would make him feel small. “Well I am Mr. Withersq, my unckle Burt has left me many millions, I have my lady Selia with me, I am the Head Poet of the Land and I wish to rent your second and third floors all to myself one for me and one for her, as only the best will do for us.”

“You want two whole floors?” spat the red manager.

“I do” said Mr. Withersq.

“But what of those who are within the floors?” said the manager who was very afraid by now.

“Tell them I will foot their bills” replyed Mr. Withersq “and ask no questions if they will get out.”

The red man turned pale now and ran away to do Mr. Withersquashes bequest, and Mr. Withersq went to fech Selia and the band struck up in the hall amongst the parms and sweet flowers, and the girl in the glass desk bowed and so the pair proudly entered and went up the stares to their apartments, and those who had been in the rooms before went hurried down the back stairs, but it was no trouble to them as they knew that they had made on the bargen.

After they had gone to their two floors and settled down and sent for all their close, Selia called down the stairs to her Harold: “I say, Squashy dear, lets go for a ride on a horse.”

“Why yes” said Mr. Withersq, “that is a very smart thing to do indeed, I wonder we did not think of it before.”

So he rang the bell that was standing on a little tabel very handy in the passage, and a dear little boy with three rows of beady butons all up his coat came tripping to reply to it.

“Go out and buy me some breeches” ordered Mr. Withersq “my dear little lad. And please get me two whips and a riding skirt for the lady. Be quick back and you can keep the change.”

And he handed him a bag full of money.

Off tripped the little lad and shortly returned with boxes from a nabouring shop. He had thoughtfully brought all that was the thing, riding boots and hats and whips and gloves for two, and a pair of breeches each, shaggy ones for Mr. Withersq and black for Selia with a coat and skirt in one also to cover her up. They slipped into these things and tossing the remains of the money to the boy they went out and hired two horses and went for a ride in the park to get up an appetite for tea after all they had eaten at the Majpottels. It joggled them up a bit on the horses as all they had ever rode before was at the fairs, still they stuck it and were stout of heart.

Just as they were coming out of the Park to go home a poleeceman stopt them.

“Are you by way of being Mr. Withersquash?” he asked.

“Yes,” said our hero without quaking for he knew he had done no rong, “what of it, eh?”

“A messej has just come from the Palace that his dear Magesty the King would like you to slip in to tea and see him, as he wants to see what sort of a new poet he has got.”

“Oh, all right,” said Mr. Withersq, “will it do if we go as we are, and do you think I can take Selia too?”

“I expect it will be all right” said the poleeceman. “His Magesty is very kind and nice, I dont think he would mind much.”

So they rode on their horses down to the Palace, and tied the reins on to those twisty rails in front of it, and the guards in the hairy hats nodded to them, and they went into the front yard and up to the door and then in, as they knew they were expected.

Oh what an hour for Mr. Withersq and his Selia to step at last on that envied spot.

“Littel did I think when we set out that we should go so far nor do so well” uttered Mr. Withersq in a low tone from respect as they went inside. Just then a junior admiral came stepping smartly to meet them.

“Ha good day dear Mr. Withersq” said he with a grin.

“Goodday indeed,” responded he. “Let me interduce Selia. Shake hands Selia!” which she did.

“Pleased to meet you” said the admiral who was garbed in serge and brade of purest gold. He then went on “Perhaps you’d like to tidy up a bit before you go in to tea?”

“If its not troubling you” said Selia, who was a bit shattered in looks after the horse.

“Certainly not” said the admiral kindly “we have a special place for that sort of thing. When visiters come in on the hop as you have they generally want a brush and washup by the time they arrive.”

“Yes traveling does make one so fussely, does not it” cried Selia in a boomy tone which caused the admiral to open wide his admiring eyes as he had no doubt thought she would be quite common and was glad to find it was not so after all.

“Quite, quite” agreed he, adding “and I have sent to tell the guards at the gate to be sure and give your horses some water and straw for their tea so do not worry about them.”

“Oh they are not ours thanks all the same” said Mr. Withersq. “Still you might as well have a drink sent out to them if you dont mind, thanks.”

The admiral now led them to the place for the toilett and passed them on to the persons there. It was a very vast hall complete with shaving chairs with shavers in silk jackets who soon took Mr. Withersq and wrapped him up in cloths and gave him a good scrape and Selia in turn went to a marbel tabel where one damsel tidyed her hair kindly and another gave her pouder and all those kinds of things and another polished her nails nicely with pinka and wiped her boots over with a velvet and when both were neat they returned to the admiral who was waiting because that is what he was for. So he looked them over and saw there was no hares on Mr. Withersquashes coat and everything as it should be.

On he led them down passage after passage and through room after room, and he let them have a peep in to where the best of the m.p.’s were thinking out some new laws which interested them both very much. And in the next room they had a squint at a lot of generals very fierce of mustashe who were practising with swords and guns and keeping their peckers up until the next war in that way because if they dont they get livers and have to retire.

And next to them in another room were the sea lords, some of whom waved very friendly to the conductor of our little party, but they were not very busy at work as their time for swimming practise was over for that day, and they were having the half day off, so ideled the time with marveleous jig-saws and draufts and chesses and what not, very cosy in their nice room.

At last they came to a very grand high passage all lined with flags of conquered countries and a stuffed lion in a glass case on the left just before a door, which was the door of the room where the King and Queen were, at which both Selia and Harold began to tremble not a little, for of all things they wanted to make a good impression.

“Have a heart” cried the admiral kindly, “they will not eat you, and there is no fuss on purpose not to make you feel small as the King well nose that it is a bit queer for a poet like you coming to see him in his Palace for the first time.”

At that he gave a respecful tap on the door and departed.

They entered meekly into a great room with slippery floor, and in the centre there was a tabel all heaped with flowers and set for about ten and smothered in sweet foods, and at this tabel sat the King and her dear Magesty the Queen was just pouring out tea. They had pushed back their thrones to seem more at home and sat on simpel chairs, and the Princess and the Princes were alas not there, so no doubt they were elsewhere on business.

“I am Mr. Withersq” said our hero as he went in, holding Selia by the hand and making a courtly bow, “and this is my lady Selia. We were out riding and only just knew you wanted us so we came strait on.”

“That’s all right” said the King, getting up to push two more chairs to the tabel for them. “We’re very glad to see you. Excuse us having started but we didn’t know if you’d get here in time and we were dying for a cup of tea.”

“Sit down, do,” said the Queen nicely, because she guest they would not dare to sit unless told.

Now Selia found her tongue and said “It is so very good of you to let me come in too, it will be a great help to me, and I have always so wanted to see you, little dreaming I ever should when Ma and I used to go to the pictures together and see you on the Pathe.”

“Really now?” said the Queen passing down two more cups of tea for them, “very pleased to see you I’m sure at last. What is this they tell me about your young man’s having done so well at poetry?”

So Selia told her all about how he came in for a good bit of money and how they set out to get on in the world, and how Emilyon Boom had turned up his nose, and how Mr. Withersq had got the prize as best poet, and how now if only she could make a hit too they hoped shortly to wed. And the Queen listened very nicely and promised that Emilyon Boom should be punished and not allowed to write poems any more. All this time Selia was getting plenty to eat too.

Meantime the King and Mr. Withersq were having a nice chat.

“Listen my dear” said the King to the Queen, “my Head Poet is telling me that his young lady wants to make a hit and she is going to shew the world what she can do in the way of sport. Now dont you think we might go and see her, because that will be a help if the people know we are going to be there, wont it? And I have taken a great liking to these young people, and should like to see them happily married.”

“Certenly, certenly,” utered the Queen most kindly patting Selia’s hand for a moment so that was setled and after a bit they got up to go and happily remembered to go out through the door backwards and the King waved his hand kindly as they did so to say goodbye, but the Queen was busy ringing the bell for a maid to clear.

“I hope he thought I was all right as a poet” Mr. Withersq said outside, “I suppose I shall often have to pop in and see him if he keeps me on.”

Just then the King called “Hi!” from inside the room so they peeked in again to see what it was.

“Oh I say! I quite forgot your medel” he said, laufing a good bit, “here you are then and blessings on you.” It was a nice little medal like tiny leaves in gold which is what the Head Poet wears so as people know what he is altho’ you dont often see him. So they again bowed and waved goodbye and came out and went back along all the passages and so out into the yard and there the horses still were, looking a bit fed up with waiting so long. And as they strode up to them a very good thing happened, because a photo man from the newspapers came up and took their photos which is fame indeed.

“What luck” cried Selia gayly as they rode away, “it was indeed a good idear to go to the poetry school was it not! see how you have got on!”

“Yes, I think we are getting on all right” he replyed for of a truth he had learnt by now that it is only the first step that hurts.

CHAPTER SEVEN

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.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Mr. Withersq was already digging at the last of his second egg with rather a cross face, as he really preferred duck’s eggs as being more sustaining, when she entered their private eating apartment at whose door stood a chef sent to watch over their food by the hotel manager.

“Hello dearie” cried he rising and casting the gloom off his face, as he had learnt to rise for ladys by now. “We have a treat in store for to-day.” And he nodded to the chef to bring Selia her breakfast, which the good man with his white hat did and then retired out of the room.

“Oh Harold what is it?” she cried settling her new brown gown, “is it a better kind of party?”

“Well hardly” said Mr. Withersq resuming his egg, “it is to go to a trial.”

“Oh! How delishus” said Selia in glee, “is it a murder?”

“No” said Mr. Withersq, “it is much better, it is a divorce, murders being a little vulgar. But the very cream go to divorces, and were it not for my having this morning before you rose purchaced a good half of the Daily Pull and put the editor in my pocket I do not think even we should have got in.”

“Oh so now you have a newspaper” chirped his love.

“Yes” said Mr. Withersq hortily “and as it is we have seats in the front.”

Truly pleased by this thoughtful and lucky idea Selia fell to and despatched her food after which they stepped into a taxi and rode to the law court.

It was a dark forboding place somewhat square. A crowd of poor jostled without. The photos of Selia and her Harold were taken as they left the taxi to enter, at which Selia bridled a little but not her Harold. For a flash he feared they were mistaken for the guilty partys but it was not so only his fame.

Inside was a great dark hall like church and the ten comandments in frames at the top, between which sat a juge in scarlet and ermin with a white wig, who was on a carved chair, with lawyers on one side in a row and jurys on the other in a pew and the lawyers were all lean and busy with papers, but the jurys were all plump and did nothing but sit.

A stir occurred as our heroes entered and were led by a beadel to the front row at which the judge beat his little hammer on the desk of his throne and cried “Ordre” very stern for all present were twisting and craning to get a better view of our pair, more so the ladys of whom there were many with lunsheon baskets seated around.

“This is not a school of poetry,” said the judge aside and drew a laugh, so Mr. Withersq knew at once this must be the famous Judge Crop the well-known wit. So they both sat down and settled.

The buss died down and silence came as a door at the side opened and amid a murmur of pity the partys to the divorce were led in, pale-faced and dismally clanking the handcuffs on their wrists, and the injured husband led the way. There were three in all, the lady and the villian with meek look following after, and the lady was very soberly dressed in black coat and skirt as befitted her position.

A policeman led them to stand in a row before the Judge, and they all three stood mum while the lawyers began to rise one by one and muter and muter and rasple their papers, and bow now and then to the Judge who seemed to sleep nevertheless he opened an eye from time to time.

Selia was a bit vexed for she found it dull and it was very hot, and they were so squashed, so she laid back a good bit against her Harold, and attemted to list.

“Ha” cried the Judge suddenly waking, “and what have you to say for yourself” as he glared at the villian, so the Wife fell to sobbing, and all the audience were greatly moved. But poor Selia was so sleepy with stuffiness that she dropped off without hearing more and only woke in time to hear the worst. The Villian and Wife had exprest their regrets, the jurys had talked the matter over, and the Judge was sitting on them, with a black cap on his head.

In slow and solemn words he drorled forth his mind and the end of it all was that he condemned the Wife and the Villian both to prison for six months to learn to mend their ways, at which the Husband rubbed hands of glee and the wicked Wife and the terrible Villian trailed out to their sad fate, at which the meeting broke up, and some were heard to say it had not been much fun. But Harold said it was a good show, as the Judge had made four jokes. So they pushed out through the throng to the taxi still waiting and poured quietly back home as Harold was to write some more that day about how to make a splash in socierty for the front page of his newspaper.

CHAPTER NINE

He departed to his room as soon as they entered and left Selia to herself so she sat on her bed and was bored. Sweet was the sound of the lunch-bell, but she did not speak to Mr. Withersq during the meal as she was cross, and he did not either because he was thinking.

Lunch over he called her again to his side.

“Alas, alas how fondly I love your charms” he said in his usual softly mode.

“Perhaps you do and perhaps you dont” snarled she making herself very stiff as he tried to press her to him. “All the same it would look better if you paid more notice to me instead of to making yourself so grand with writing newspapers, knowing very well you ought to be writing poems, and vexing the King no doubt, as he must have made you Head Poet for something. Unless you find me no more than a drag on you as a humbel girl and wish me to go back to ma.”

At this he first brushed cobwebs from his brow in amaze for he had not looked at it from this side, and then laughing much for he was no ill-temperd boor was Withersq, he drew her very loving to his knee and soothed her with strokes, and once more promised all should be well and that the Majpottels had her case in hand and would know when to strike.

“Oh dont tell me” she said but nestling a little so as not to be-anger him, “the Majpottels are coming for me at three.”

“Coming?” snapped he. “And why may I ask?”

“Ah that is a secret” she said archly, feeling now she had got her own back and she coyly rubbed his ears over till they were redder than ever.

“Remember. You are mine” he urged rather stern for his was a true love. “I trust you.”

“Not half” responded she, and changed the subject.

Mr. Withersq now popped her on the floor and got up, feeling for his gloves and hat, as he had got quite used to nice ways now.

“Come sweet” he cried, having found them on a green silk sofa under the window. “I have something to show you.”

So he led her down the red-carpet stairs towards the hotel door, and the uniform man worked the whirling doors for them very humbly.

“Lo” he cried.

Oh what a treat for Selia! Drawn up to the footwark what should be there but a motor car painted blue with a blue-coat man to drive it and on the door was painted £sd just as Mr. Withersq had had put on all his underlinen.

“It is for us” said he proudly, so they stepped in, the man snapt the door to, and drove to the park.

Hardly had they arrived there when a very nice thing occurred for as they glided along the smooth path between the trees, looking very chic and bored, who should they meet but the Countess who had been at the party the first night they burst upon a startled world. So they drew up. The countess who was in a thin white car and working it herself stopped too seeming to know them, and so they had a little chat.

“Goodmorning I am the Countess, perhaps you dont recollect me” said she, without smiling or letting the stiff look off her face. Selia who had been about to give a grin stopped herself just in time and continued to have the bored look, which she now knew was the thing when meeting a pal.

“Indeed yes” she said very slow as tho’ too tired, yet in her heart determined to push forward now or never, “you were so kind to us.”

“Oh dont pray mention it” the smart lady replyed with a well-trained smile, “only too pleased and if you would care to come and have tea with me to-morrow I shall be very delited. I dont think my husband will mind.”

“Certainly we will and thank you” said Mr. Withersq, as though he had not heard that last bit.

“Is that your dog?” inquired Selia, wishing to chat on for she liked to be beheld chatting in the Park, more so with a Countess.

“Yes, that is Lipstick my poodle” the beauty said yawning, but it wasn’t realy a poodle, rather more like a white dashund with rough hare and very polished eyes.

“How sweet he is” lisped Selia.

“Is not he?” replyed their new friend “and how charming your new car is!”

“Yes” said Selia “it is not so bad,” and her heart gave a secret bound with pride, “well we must toddle now. Gooby.”

“Gooby” replyed the Countess and pulled a thing and so moved away, leaving them very pleased with how they were getting on.

When they had gone all along the gravel path, and across the bridge by the Serpentine and up to Bayswater, and then back, having successfully caused a few horses with riders on them to dance on their back legs, which is why many folks go in motors in the Park, as this is a sort of sport, Selia spoke again.

“It is a very nice car indeed” she said a little in confusion, “and runs smooth as butter. But now I must be getting back dear Harold.”

Scowling on her, Mr. Withersq poked his head out of the side door and told the man to go back to the hotel, which he did, making that popping noise all down Piccadilly, and when they got to the door Mr. Withersq got out, helped Selia down, raised his hat and waited for her to depart within the hotel.

Dearly wishing to teaze his male curiossity she lingered a little until stung into madness by her mystery he said very stern.

“Do not trifle with a good man’s affections.”

“Ho!” quoth she, “trifle? Indeed I do not trifle but do my bit as well as may be so that all should end well. And if you had asked me why I retire I would have told you but now wild horses should not make me speak because of your bad heart.”

With a careless laugh she plunged in through the doors and was immediately fallen upon by the Majpottels who had on their pink and blue shirts, with pale grey suits and straw hats in hand, beaming with long sad smiles into her face, and so between them they walked the length of the hall and back, chatting (this was to exercise Selia in the art of social ease) and then sat awhile in green-painted basket chairs near the parms. Now it was a very hot day and both of the brothers were reddish and rather damp, but noblesse obliged them not to mop their heads and necks as this is low.

“What will you drink” uttered Gerald politely to Selia.

“What is smart?” asked she very low.

“Oh you had better have a coktale” replyed he “as that is all ladys drink just at present,” and so he ordered one, but Selia made a mistake and let the cherry at the bottom of the little tubby glass into her mouth and so had to put the stone out. Rupert frowned on her a little for this, and she saw that the elegant brothers had left their cherry alone uneaten. She made note of this for the future.

“You’ll be wanting to change wont you” now wispered Gerald, who was looking rather lively. Selia took the hint and went up to her apartment, not knowing in deuce what she should wear out of the many attires concealed within the drawers there.

To her surprise, as she entered the room, a small squabby woman in black with black velvet and some white frills in her hair rose from a seat by the window.

“I am Madames new maid” this person said with a nice bow of respect, “my name is Scrogg. What would Madame like to wear.”

This vision so took away our herione’s breath that she hardly new what to say for a moment, then laughing to herself as she guest what it was, and thought of all that it meant to be a rich man’s pet, she turned coldly aside and wispered something to the new maid who went at once to the proper draw and drew forth what was needful.

Selia was a modest girl and had not been used to undressing before folks, but knew that it had to be done and summoning her strength she gave herself up to be divested of her attire, and arrayed anew in purest white suitable for her secret errand.

“A more simpel mode for the hair?” suggested Scrogg who was very nifty. Selia nodded as she guest this was better.

Fresh as paint and smelling a little of something Scrogg had sprinkled at her on leaving, Selia descended once more to the waiting Majpottels who sat each with chin on stick, leaving Scrogg to tidy away which is what a maid largely is for and saves a heap of time.

In her heart Selia was not quite sure whether Scrogg was an offspring of the Majpottels minds or whether a pretty attention of her dear Harolds so she said nothing. And as a matter of fact it was Gerald who had done it, knowing she needed a woman’s care, and he had got Scrogg at great cost from a Lord, for he too in his way was one to stick at nothing.

CHAPTER TEN

It was quite late in fact it was almost eight when Selia came back and tho she knew she had done no wrong she felt a little sly as she quickly slipped up the hotel stares, gazed on by the usual knot of folk who hung around to get a peep of her and Harold in the hotel lounge. She panted into the eating apartment. No one. So she popped up into her room where Scrogg sat eating a sandwich, and got off her white which was now dashed, and Scrogg fluffed her hair out archly, and put her into a evening gown, making her tuck her vest straps under her arms and expose a great deal too much or so she felt but Scrogg said no it had to be so. Scrogg then told her one or two things which opened her eyes. But she affected to hear nothing altho really it soaked in.

After a gaze in the mirror which pleased her as she looked quite like a lady by now with waved hair and a sleek traily gown of black with lace streamers hanging, and all her neck and front and half her back bare, she sailed from the room as Scrogg told her a rather diffrent walk is needed in the evening much more snake-like. Entering once more the eating-apartment, she found the white-hatted chef alone, altho’ the table was set.

“Where is Mr. Withersq” said she.

“I am afraid he is not well” the chief replied “he entered a little while ago, with pale look, and went away again.”

Like a hen robbed of her young Selia darted to the room of her Harold. There spread on the imense wooden bed with four posts, lay her devestated Harold, and the blinds were down.

Tiptoeing in “What is it, what is it” she cried, “Have you written too much?”

“It is not that,” came the mournful voice of our hero from the bed, “it is worse. I am a ruined man.”

“Oh, Harold!” gasped the distracted Selia in dismay.

A great groan burst from his brest. Together they sobbed a while.

“Come” said Selia at last “I command you tell me what it is. Are you married in secret?”

“No, not so bad as that perhaps, because it can be cured.”

“Are you going to prison? Are you mad?”

“No, no” sniveled the wretched man. “I cant tell you.”

“Dont say the money has gone!”

“Ah no” cried he of a sudden sitting up at the mere idear, “ah no! I think we shall yet win, but it is a bad mess I am in.”

And so he sobbed out his sad story.

During the while she had been away that day who should Harold meet but the head poet of the limerick class from the school of poetry and they had been to have a quick one together. Falling into talk as men will they had begun to exchange the latest tales, some not too nice, and indeed most of what Harold had brought with him from the lower world but he thought that the limerick poet would not mind as poets always like low life. He had told him a couple of good ones, and as it happened they were both about sport.

“I thought something was up” moaned the unhappy man, “for he gave me a very funny look. And as we were to come out, as we stood with our toothpicks on the step, he made a fishy excuse to pop off for a minute. When he came back he said there was a man he would like me to meet, so we went in the new car. It was a house out of Oxford St., which I thought strange, still as I was having a sigar I thought perhaps it was that made me a bit nervy. Imagine my woe when we entered and I then found myself alone and defenseless with ... what do you think?”

“Lie down dear Harold and dont get excited” Selia said altho she was all agogg herself. “What was it? Cardsharpers?”

“Oh, no” sighed he, “it was the smell that told me almost before I was within, like floor-polish and cough-drops mixed and a bit of gin thrown in for sport. No, it was a doctors, one of the costly kind with carpets on the floor and carving instruments in glass cases.”

“A doctor!” screamed Selia. “Have you then an ilness?” And she rapidly mopped odor cologne on to his brow cuasing him to sneze which eased him.

“Well it is a kind of ilness but very odd and you will not catch it” he said. “And I think it was a trick tho’ meant well by the limerick-poet as you will see.”

“How so?” said Selia very bold for she would have tore his enemys in half.

“Well to cut a long story short, I have got a kind of hidden passion which is nawing at my heart, and that is why I cannot write any more poems.”

“What did the Doctor do to you” urged she eager to get to the point and hear the worst, “did he operate?”

“No he was very kind” said Harold propping himself up a bit against his pillows “and it took me a long while to get the hang of it all. He told me I have been under a strane and feared I was ill and wished to ask me a few questions. Said he leaning back and making cats cradles on his pink fingers, “have you anything on your mind?”

So of course says I, “No.”

At that he shot me a serpentine glance.

“Now my good man” said he “just let your mind ease out and answer me at random.”

“As I was feeling a bit mad I thought it best to humor him as I feared otherwise I might give him a smartish tap for you know what I am when roused.”

“Bat” said he to me, simple like.

“Ball” said I to humour him.

“Out” says he cunning.

“Over” says I to catch him, and this got him for a moment. Then he dartled to a little exercise book and made a mark in it on some squares, and rang his bell at which a seceretary came in, and mutered with her, till she went out. A nice girl in a white blouse too.”

“Ha” said Selia as tho’ stung. “But what were they at.”

“Well dearest you see it is a new disease. The doctors being hard up between you and me and the gatepost because the herd are not dying off so much as they did.”

“No I’ve noticed that, there’s hardly ever a nice funeral nowadays,” said Selia.

“Well and what with that and having no more apendicles to cut out they had to be at something fresh,” he continued.

“I see” said Selia who as will have been noticed had growed almost meek in these latter days and sat merely stroking her Harolds hand in pity.

“So now they declare in their bold way that all clever folk have a brane sickness on the lines of a drain stoppage (if you will excuse me) and he was artful-like pumping me to try and find out what had stopped the drain.”

“Oh!” With a yell Selia lept from the bed.

“Calm yourself Selia” said her Harold, preparing to rise from his couch, “for you know what bad form it is to show emoshun. And all these adventers of mine are very smart indeed.”

“Smart? How smart?” snapt she quivering with distres partly from the snub she had had.

“Sit down dear Selia” he said with a cool drorl, “and I will tell you how for you know we must let nothing get past us even if it is only a sickness.”

“Too true” she said subsidising somewhat and becoming seated though at a distance.

“Well I think this must be very like the latest craze of all” he said passing his hand over his brow and settling again on the bed, “though come too soon in my career as it is more fitted to those who are played out whereas I am only at the post as you might say and in my first flush. Still there is no saying but it is smart.”

So Selia came and sat again on the bed’s side while her love got it off his chest which is always a good thing even in high life.

“Well this old meddiko kept on at me and on and on and I began to get sleepy because it was hot and there was a blue-bottel buzzing. I do not know what I said but he was very interested. Suddenly he sprang up. ‘Eureka’ he cried, and began pacing up and down and down and up till I went quite swimmy. So then it all came out.”

“And what was it” inquired Selia all agag.

“It was cricket.”

“What was?”

“My sickness.”

“How so? You were sick with cricket. What cricket? Come do not play any tosh with me.”

“It is no tosh” said Harold simpering a little with pride. “I am the first case. Of course between you and me it is somewhat tosh. Still they are writing a article on me called ‘Sport and Poetry: a Sycoanalsis of Genius’ to prove that I am suffering from a sort of squashed wish to play cricket just as Shakespere suffered because his wish to play tennis was squashed as he had not got the price.”

“Oh I see” said Selia which she now knew whas a useful thing to say.

“Dont interrupt” said he giving himself one or two airs “it is all due to the squashed wish. It is quite true I have said to myself lately that now the summer is come it is a pity I am a rich man because I cannot now very well play with the boys as I did, and I dreamt a bit about the good old times, and thought of the ball I left in a box under my bed. Still, that was all it was and we ought to be glad it was no worse for it seems some men suffer from squashed wishes of a kind it would little befit me to tell you of.”

“Go on” said she “I’ve got you now. I read of it in the Sunday papers.”

“Indeed” quoth he “I did not know you were so advansed. It all goes to show how truly I chose you for mine own dearest Selia.”

“Hity tity” quoth she somewhat nettled, “not so much stiffness even if you have a squashed wish. You need not be so uppish towards me.”

“Indeed must I” corrected he “for if we are not stiff in private we may make a slip before the world, and that will do no one any good, will it?”

Springing from the bed now, he went to the mirror and administered a little patting to his attire to settle himself after being couched, then pressing a kiss on the nape of his dear, he prepared to lead her from the room.

“Come, fair” said he, this he had overheard at the first party and kept for use “we have lobster for dinner, so let’s make a hop.”

They entered the dining-apartment where the chef had patiently waited keeping the lobster on ice till needed, and they sat down and tucked in, pondering within a while the new sickness of Harold.

“And is your squashed wish cured now?” said she at last, wondering what form it might take.

“Yes thank you it is greatly better, for it is only a matter of letting the back come to the front as in telling the doctor of it, and then all is eased.”

“I see” said she “and I am glad you will not play cricket for of a truth I think it is a little common.”

And as they had now finished they wiped their mouths, and he helped her rise, and they went by their blue car to the opera where Mr. Withersq had retained a box.

The opera of course was already on, and as they were both more than a little tired and could not chatter as much as the fashion required Mr. Withersq hired a small gramafone from the box office which they plaiced on the ground between their two gold chairs in their regal box which was trimmed with red plush, and this they put on from time to time in the dull parts, which drew much attention as it could be quite clearly heard all over the theater, during the softer parts of the music, which is the idea and much simpler than having to keep on jawing. Because it is not smart to sit silent at the opera.

And when the hero had killed the heroine and sang a long song over her corpse, they got up and went out and the crowd clapped a good bit to see them go. And so they went home to bed.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The next morning Scrogg brought Selia her morning tea and told her it would be best to have a bath.

“They are made very pleasant now Madam” she explained, as she threw all Selias close into the tall basket behind the washstand, “what with bath salts and animal sponges.” Selia in surprise propped herself on elbow in the couchy bed saying “Do they then have a bath every day with clean underwear,” for even she knew it was no good to put dirty close on a clean body.

“Indeed yes” said Scrogg with a kind smile. “My last lady was very particular, she would never dream to have her bath without her special frog sponge, so I made bold to buy you one yesterday in the form of a pijeon which you will find in its place in the bath racket.”

“Ho” said Selia “I thought such things were only for the young.”

“Dear no” said Scrogg departing with the towels, “all things are animal now including electric lights.”

And so Selia had a bath first however recalling Scrogg.

“Go and tell Mr. Withersq to have a bath every day too” she thoughtfully said “for I fear he is not quite up to that yet.”

“Very good Madam” said Scrogg and went, and so Selia tripped into the bathroom and soaped well all over with the sponge which was like a pijeon with a beak and wool eyes and when she had had a good swill and a brisk dry she felt so strong she ran out and banged all the doors all down one side of the corridor for as will be remembered she occupied a whole floor to herself.

And after a good breakfast with her Harold both of them reading Harold’s own newspaper propped up on the toast-machine, she departed on a mysterous errand to the Majpottels whereat Mr. Withersq made a sorry face, still as he was really very busy in the mornings he didnt mind as much as he looked, and set himself to writing his newspaper, which he now did every day as he thought it a good sport to tell others how to get on, and smiled up his sleeve to think how few would have Unckle Burts at the send-off, still it was a good wheeze as long as the craze for him lasted and made more money than ever. He was a little bored with it already however, for all though of low birth Mr. Withersq like all the truly great bored easily. And from time to time he caught himself thinking of cricket but not so much as he had done as the doctor had already given him some unthinking medesine, and each time he did think he wrote a poem and they were soon to be printed in a book.

At about three Selia came tripping back a bit red in the face and rather secret, and burst into Mr. Withersq room where he was eating a orange, with a noisy kiss.

“Huzzah” cried she “I think I shall yet beat the band. But what are those smutty objects near your ears?”

“Those are my new side-whiskers” replied her Harold unctuously “for all poets have them.”

“You dog” she said “you are cutting a figure these days arent you?” And with these words she rushed away to Scrogg to be attired.

At four she was ready in a slippery creation of black with no arms to it but it was not an evening dress, and a nose veil bedangling from a ravished shapoo woven of the hares of horses.

“Let us sally” said she, gazing at him and he gazed at her with pride for she looked very much better.

“You are a treat” he said gallantly so they went down thro’ the hall which was worse than ever with a dense crowd more staring than ever to behold them, and out into their blue car en route for the Countess tea.

When they got there it was a little house but smart done up in black and white paint with orange stuff for curtains, and lobellia in boxes round the windows and two marbel statues of little boys before the door, and they both had curly hair.

The chauffeur rang the bell. How different it was to when both had been poor. They felt it. They strode within into a hall with bead curtains and thro’ to a room at whose door stood the Countess herself with welcoming hand.

Mr. Withersq had a bit of trouble to get his hat off in time.

“Ah good afternoon, how sweet of you to come” cried their hostess.

“Not at all” Selia said “we were only too pleased to visit you.” And they went into the room. There was a lot of folks there eating off plates in their laps and all murmured and gazed to see the heroes of the hour enter, so Selia and Mr. Withersq sat down and had some plates passed to them and stretched out for what food they could find lying about.

Near by Mr. Withersq sat a youngish lady with plentiful ginger hair and robed in violet with out-shooting lips and an ernest apperence.

“Do tell me” she burbled in a rich voice “how you write such beautiful poems?”

But Mr. Withersq who had just tucked a cress sandwich in his mouth could not say much only growling in reply at which no one seemed cross but all present cooed and moaned, saying “Ah how simple he is” and “How true” for it was very much like the first party and “How true” was still the fashion, like red hats sometimes appear and are worn awhile and then drop out.

“He had poetry in him all the while” said Selia “but it did not come out.”

So now the Countess came to sit beside her, and pawed at her hand in love.

“Do you think the great man would come to my little riverside home one day” uttered she, “do please dear lady beg darling Mr. Withersq to come down to my little party at Maidenhead next week. There will not be much to entertain in fact we have only got two funny people coming at present but we have an excellent gramafone and perhaps the boats would give him some new idears.”

All listened. Many of the ladys were chewing on strings of coloured beads hung about their necks and their ears waved for the answer.

“Have you got any Harry Lauders” said Selia for fun “for he is very partial to them.” Her Harold was making warning faces to her but she would not heed. Oh what an error. You could hear the brick drop. But the Countess had tact to give a little snickering laugh.

“Oh I dont think he needs such low things” said she, “you do not understand. No we have only classical music. Nevertheless we should be very glad to see him as I have rather a reputation for my parties in fact I never have any but the pick of socierty in my presence and I should like to add dear Mr. Withersq to my list.”

“Thank you” said Mr. Withersq not quite seeing why she so had her knife in his love “we will come.”

Selia sat biting a cake to show she did not care.

Most of the guests who were numerous but all ladys had put their cups down and now were figetting about talking and poking into all the Countesses things fingering the curtains and picking up the ornaments to see if the price was still on the bottom, tapping her bits of furniture which were all a bit old-looking but curious and not so bad for those who are too proud to have new objects. Selia thought this very rude and sat stiff in despare finding the way to success very thorny for women as not much notice came her way, as when they were not poking about at the things in the room they were fusseling round Mr. Withersq who sat with a silly smile on his face to be the center of attraction.

But as good luck would have it Selia got her own back for as she was a good bit bored she got up and said Gooby. Now it is very smart to be the first to go as it shows you do not think much of where you are, so this was a snub and had its effect for the ladys left Mr. Withersq who had mislaid his hat under a chair, and came to her to bid adieu.

“Thanks for coming and now you know the way you must come again” said the Countess hurrying up and tripping over some lace hanging from her arms for she was in a sort of dressing gown of pink silk “and wont you come to my river party too?”

“Thanks yes I daresay I shall” said Selia as a parting arrow stiffly and stalked out, Mr. Withersquash hurrying behind, but kissing his hand to the company who smiled sweetly upon him.

When they got in the car Selia sniffed a good bit and tried to cry because she was sorry for herself but she only managed a very little tear, which Mr. Withersq wiped up for her.

“Do not cry” said he “for those silly cats. They have nothing better to do but to try and steal a little greatness from such as us. The time will come for them to sue for your favors as they do mine and then we shall see.” So she cheered up and made him go and buy her a string of coloured beads too in a shop on the way home, and when they got back she departed to the Turkish baths to have a massage for she would need all her strength in the trial to come.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The blue-coat chauffeur tucked Mr. Withersq and his Selia within the car which spead on greased wheels of lightning through the western of London and out into the more rustical parts where there were trees. Quick oh quick they moved and Selia’s heart came in her mouth several times with people and no small quantity of dogs they shaved past.

Twilight had settled when they drew up with a good toot on their grunty hooter at the white wicker gate of the country home of the Countess on the evening of the proper day as they had somewhat artfully arranged only to arrive in time for dinner.

As well as they could see squinting through the darkness it was a very low house and very broad like a tennis club but of course more grand looking very nice with nice smelling flowers about and two white peacocks strolling on the lawn. But alas to their dismay no one was at home. Only a little page-boy and he was a stuttering one, and had some trouble to get out that the family was on the river in their boat, so that Mr. Withersq gave him a sixpence and let him go.

“Dear me” said he waving away the chauffeur who took off the car, “we are nicely sold and shall get no grub.”

“Yes indeed” said Selia very crossly “I think we had better go home again” for she had a vacancy.

“Not so” cried he “we have not come so far for nothing. Come with me.”

Now Selia was more than a bit tired and only followed him because she hoped to be fed rebuffing his kindly arm, she tottered on her high heels beside him in smothering rage. But past experiences had taught our hero. “Fear not” he said “you will be well filled yet, for Unckle Burt has not died for nothing.”

And he led her through the dark lanes under the creepy trees towards the spottling lights of a near village. Selia was a good bit afraid as she feared to step on a frog or some other vermin and went picking her way. Still she had a pluck and kept moving only wishing herself elsewhere.

Soon they struck a cosy little pub where a man was hissing outside over the feet of a horse which he was washing. Selia looked at the horse which exchanged her glance but Mr. Withersq looked in the pub. He came out in a short moment to find his sweet leaning against the animal.

“All is well,” said he, “our party is close at hand.”

“Nasty lot they might have waited for us,” said she. “For I am footsore and have empty rumblings also.”

“Excuse me, sir,” said the horse’s man, coming up under its stomach, “but there is a nice little ham and beef shop a few doors away.”

Casting a cold look on this fellow, Selia took the talk up. “Show the gentleman the way,” said she, “and pop me on the horse, for I must have a sit down and do not care to demean myself by entering a public house.”

The horse, hearing his name mentioned, turned to have a stare, but she cared little for that, knowing to be firm with the dumb creatures is best, so she made a severe face at it.

“Show a leg,” cried Harold gallantly, and with a good grasp on her, and the man pushing too, they got her up on the horse.

“That’s better,” she said, getting comfortable, and finding it a nice broad beast as she had hoped. So Mr. Withersq and the man disapeared, leaving Selia bravely seated on the steed, which champed its bit somewhat, but every time it moved she cried “Whoo!” and it obeyed her, to the surprise of some yokels who peeked forth from the pub. Before long Mr. Withersq and the man came back, the latter bearing some paper bags.

“Hurrah, I have food!” cried Harold, “and I am feeling most poetical. This good man will give you a lift on this horse to the Countess’s boat, so off we go.”

At this the little procession set off, but first Selia cried “Oh pray give me a bite for I am perishing.” At this Mr. Withersq rustled in a bag and drew forth a sandwich and passed it up to her. So off they went in the darkness of the night, Selia on the horse, and Mr. Withersq holding one of her feet to steady her, while she chewed a rather mysterious sandwich, not being able to see what it was, and bumping a good bit on the heaving animal. The horse’s man led the way down another lane, followed by some rude cheers from the pub. Before long they saw water, and in a few moments drew a halt.

“Coo-ee!” howled the man.

From out a large, white place looming with myriad twinkling lights an answering voice cried “Coo-ee!”

“Is it another house?” said Selia. “I dont see no boat.”

“It is the boat,” cried the horse’s man.

Lo! on the river’s edge was a great boat like a steamer, bedecked with fairy lamps, and at the sound of our hero’s arrival many voices noised out and forms were seen on the deck. Never had Selia beheld such a vision as this grand boat.

“Well, it is just like a house,” cried she.

“It is a houseboat,” said Harold, “for I read it up in an etiquette book.”

Oh how Selia laughed to hear this! “So that is where all your stiff new ways come from, is it!” jested she, though not so coyly as she would, as her horse was sipping a little of the river, and it was hard to sit on it so sloping.

“Ha, welcome!” the voice of the Countess was then heard. “Come aboard, pray! We were expecting you to supper, but still, better late than never.”

So Selia dropped from the horse, jolting herself a good bit, and together with Mr. Withersq mounted a small ladder from the river’s edge up the side of this magnificent boat, and so arrived safe on the deck, at which a throng, bobbing up from all directions, seized on them with merry hand shakings, and cooings of delight, for they had been given up, and their arrival proved a welcome diversion, and Lipstick barked madly his eyes more polished than ever. The Countess who was in a tight dress of black beads sewn on stuff like a serpent grasped warmly their hands and seemed more glad than before for no doubt their fame had spread more and so she thought them worth her while.

“Let me introduce you to the folk” she said kindly, motioning to the group of about six behind her.

“This is the well-known Mr. Bross” she continued picking on a pear-shaped gent with plump legs in white trousers and a short evening jacket, so he came up smiling with blandness.

“Pleased to meet you Mr. Poet” said he and the Countess wispered to Selia “He is rather an amusing man we have asked him ten times before it is a pity he is nearly finished.”

“How is that” said Selia bowing to him.

“Oh he is no good at much but foreign langwages” said the Countess merrily, “and he only knows fifteen. You see as he is not very high born we expect him to amuse us, and he sings very well so he has to burst into song after breakfast on Sundays to take away the rather chilly feeling on Sunday mornings. As he has already sung in ten different langwages and of course we wouldn’t like the same one twice, he only has five more weekends to come.”

The langwage-singer sighed at this no doubt overhearing, and gave way to a greyish-coloured fellow reeking a little of wine. “This is Mr. Panter, you must have heard of him” said the Countess. “He makes reputations.”

“Is that so” said Selia who was keeping her end up very well, “what does he make them of?”

“Ah dear girl you do not understand” simpered the other lady, “we always ask him down for when one gets a bit stale of people and they have not done anything in the way of a stunt lately, he makes up such sweet little stories about everyone that they become quite nice again, and for some he makes up entire reputations for a consideration, and they live on them.”

“Oh I see” said Selia “it is a business.”

“Naturally” said the Countess kindly “for they all want to live you know and as cats have the artfulness to live by being cats and so getting milk and meat, so many are compelled to live by having reputations which causes them to be asked about and fed. Mr. Panter has the most magnificent set of offices near the British Museum.”

“I must remember him” said Selia “he might come in useful some day when we want to be noticed.”

“Tush” twittered her friend “Mr. Panter leaves ladys to look after their own reputations, dont you sir?” and this remark drew a laugh from a priestly looking damsel with many ropes of pearls about her elegant long neck, lolling in a deckchair near their feet, so Selia was now introduced to her and as well as she could grasp this lady did nothing but be an earl’s sister because of course if you are nobel that is enough and saves many pains.

“I hear” said the earls sister who was most languid and archy in her way of speaking and holding herself, “that Mr. Bross is learning Welsh.”

“Dear me” said Selia “now he will be able to come again for another week-end more.”

“Certenly not” said the Countess proudly, “this is not a political house-boat, we are artists and I do not think we could bear Welsh after breakfast even on Sundays. I must speak to him and try to urge him to learn something else.”

So she got up and went off to do so.

Meanwhile Mr. Withersq had rather sidled away towards a nice little girl in a cream frock very low and fluffy, and had talked to her and she had opened wide great eyes of amaze to him to hear so great a poet speak ordinary. He was now muttering something with many muffled laughs to a very tall oldish man in a suit of pearl grey silk, and munching a fish sandwich which from time to time he dipped in a glass of champagne he had had brought him by a menial attired as a sailor.

From the chair in which she had sunk Selia pawed at her Harold’s near trouser. So he passed her down some food which she wolfed up. Then as she was tired and could not make out much of the various persons around who were all smoking long cigarettes and by their talk seemed to have endless little private jokes of their own, she went off to bed, which was down some steep brass-tipped stairs with a rope bannister, into the bowels of the boat. Imagine her surprise when she opened her room door to find Scrogg knitting a sock within.

“Goodday” cried Scrogg springing up and ready to unfasten her, and “Goodevening” said Selia stifling her yawn with a smile “how did ever you come here Scrogg?”

“I thought you would like me” said Scrogg humbly, “so I came up the river in a little row-boat I keep for emergencies.”

“I see” said Selia “that was very nice of you I’m sure. I am very tired though.”

“No wonder madame” said the maid throwing her pink Greecian nightdress over her head nimbly, “with so many clever people about, for the Countess only has the first class cream at her boat parties.”

“Hurrah” cried Selia “what a funny pillow!” and lo the bed she jumped in was built to the wall like a real boat’s bed and her pillow was like a life-buoy but made in feathers with a white linen cover and frilled with real lace. Scrogg then quickly fixed up a hammock across the little room, under the round window, and went to bed in it, and thus to the sound of the slapping waves mistress and maid snoozed while Mr. Withersq talked of his poetry to the company on deck, still all swigging champagne till the early hours.

Selia slept late next day for the fresh air made her drowsy and only peeped out of her bed in time to hear in the distance the loud end of Mr. Bross’s Sunday morning song and the applause after it. Scrogg then entered with a tray of rolls and coffee.

“The Countess asked me to tell you the song was a great success” she said with her usual curtsey, “it was in Yiddish this week.”

“Oh” said Selia rubbing her eyes up for the day, “how clever!” for she unluckily did not know where this was spoken. When she had just finished up her breakfast a thunderous knock sounded on her door and Scrogg opened.

“Dear me” said this good servant, for who should stand there but Mr. Withersq in a grand navy bathing costume embroidered with anchors and wearing canvas boots. Selia modestly hid in her bed.

“None of that now” said he “all is al fresco here, so nip up. You will find a bathing costume under the pillow, and I give you five minutes.”

So with a good grin he withdrew leaving Selia to spring up and quickly dress in the dinky suit which as he had said she would find under the lifebuoy pillow. She shrank a little from the eyes of the men and also swanked a bit too because of the Countess who was in a pea-green suit, and the Earls sister in mauve and the nice little girl in orange, but Selia was all in black like Annette Kellermann.

“Hurrah” quoth she as she appeared and they all cheered also for Selia was indeed a fine girl and Mr. Withersq patted his own back and jumped for joy to see her, knocking over a pot of flowers ornamenting the boat. The water below sparkled and looked a bit cold, the birds sang and the trees were nice and green.

“One two three” said the Countess and at three such a splash occurred as all the party threw themselves recklessly into the water, followed by Lipstick the dog. Selia felt happy to find them flesh and blood after all and Harold trod the water in glee. They all had a merry sport, and Selia raced the gentleman who had been in grey silk but now in striped drawers, ending by ducking him.

When the swim was over they all climbed very dripping on the deck to be received by menials with hot towels and so away to their rooms to dress, after which lunch arrived. It was a splendid repast with salmon and not tinned either, and after lunch Mr. Withersq recited a new poem he had made that very day, which pleased them all very much and he got a stamp from the Earls sister to post it to the King, and Panter slapped him on the shoulder and swore never to forget him.

True to their rule Mr. Withersq and Selia prepared to depart early and amid much goodbyes climbed over the side and down the ladder to terra firma where their car awaited them, and waved themselves off, while Scrogg meanwhile was seen to get into her little boat and soon vanished round the corner of the water rowing hard.

As Selia sank back into the car with a parting wave to the boat, Mr. Withersq caught her in a firm kiss.

“Tush” she said “have done.” But she was not so vexed as she seemed for she loved him but of course she still had to be a bit coy.

“I think we are doing very well” said he smacking his lips, and emerging a great cigar from his pocket. “Bross gave me this and I think he will consent to come to our parties when we have a house.”

Selia blushed at his meaning glance at this word, and then said “No doubt he will be glad to dear Harold. And it will not be so long now for next week I hope to show them the stuff I am made of and have my photo in the weekly papers, which is fame.”

So hand in hand with Mr. Withersq puffing the big cigar they glided back to London and their hotel.

LAST CHAPTER

It is now the folowing Saterday.

Meanwhile the brothers Majpottel had not been idel for they had wangeled it as well as they could, dropped a hint here and a word there in the usuel way and kept expectations up to scratch for the great day of Selia’s tussel with fate, and this was to come off that very after noon.

Selia was lying on her second floor at the Grand Palace and being swilled down by a lot of ladys and girls that had come round to look after her like boxers are done to, and they rubbed and slapped and jumped her about and flipped her with towels and squooshed water on her till her arms were as hard as nails and so were her legs too which was lucky as in tennis you want both.

When they had done with her they helped her to dress and pouder and then attended her like handmaids to the taxi that was waiting, as Mr. Withersquash had bought one for her to use. Mr. Withersq who was now wearing the special poets badge in his coat was waiting for her.

“My hour has come” she wispered to him, she felt a bit bad inside at the idear. “Have pluck” he wispered back “and then we can get married!”

So off she drove to Lords which is a large park so called because all the nuts go there to see the games going on. When they got there there was a dense throttling crowd and they went in and had a look round to get their breath before starting. Where they had got to was the wrong part among the crowd so they pushed on through to the socierty part. Selia was arrayed in a cordion pleeted white robe with shoes and stockings to match and Mr. Withersq wore his best day suit and shiny topper in fine stile and all made way for them with murmurs of praise so on they stept very saucy.

When they came to the socierty part which had a rope round and went to go in an haughty dame sniffled over them and would have stopped them specially Selia.

“And pray what are you up to my good girl?” said she very nasty, but just then their old friend the admiral came leaping up now in a white garb, and said:

“Way for the Head Poet and Lady!”

So the haughty dame had to make way and felt very sore put down no doubt.

After shaking hands with the admiral they stept on to where the King and Queen had just arrived and said goodday to them which drew a cry of surprise from all present to see them so well known by the Highest in the Land.

His Magesty called out,

“The Lady Selia wants to beat the world with her skill at tennis. Who will take her on?”

And Rupert and Gerald Majpottel now came tripping up and cried “Hi! This way for the lady tennis champions! Anyone want to try their strength? Walk up and try to beat the Lady Selia!” This made the company laugh very harty to hear the brothers go on in this way, which was their little joke and did a lot of good. For the head lady tennis players who had been lounging idly in chairs behind the King and Queen now sprang fiercely forward on hearing this cry of the Majpottels and said “Here we are!” and there were three of them.

Meantime the crowd was crowding something awful all round the socierty part and staring and the newspaper men were taking photos and scribbling in books about it. Oh what a moment! Almost for a tick Selia wished Mr. Withersquashes Unckle Burt had never passed away, but then girding herself up, and blushing a little at the roar of cheers that rose when the crowd saw that she was a sport, she tossed off her hat with a proud toss, and summoned for a bat.

“Come on then!” she yelled to the head lady tennis players.

“Not so fast!” cried the Queen kindly “for there are three to one against which we all know is wrong.”

So one of the three head tennis ladys who all had medals on their chests because of all the games they had won, said she would take sides with Selia. And some of the socierty folks snigered and said “tosh” for they did not know Selia and bemeaned her being as they well knew only humbel of birth for she had got her name up owing to having got on so lately.

Out on the grassy sward she stept swashing her tennis bat while Mr. Withersquash fondly gazed on her from beside royalty.

“Pom!” the game began and a ball came over. And “pom!” Selia hit it back and so she went on. Nothing could get past her. Oh she was very clever at tennis was Selia though her light had hitherto been under a bushel.

Love thirty, love forty, game, so it went on and on for ages, and then when at the last the lady partner playing with Selia got a bit waxy because she never had a chance to touch a ball and began grumbling, Selia took her on too and smashed her although she was on the same side of the net, and smashed the two ladys on the other side and smashed them all and they could hardly stand they were so tired and cross.

“Hurrah, hurrah” cried Mr. Withersquash from the socierty part, and the King and Queen stood up to have a better look and the crowd roared and the brothers Majpottel fell on each others necks and cried very loud and wet for joy they were so glad and in fact it was a proper sight you never saw the like of until at last Selia threw up her tennis bat in the air and cried very loud:

“Have you had enough?”

And the two lady players on the other side of the net and the one lady partner who had also been beaten although a partner said all together: “Yes!” and casting down the medals from off their dishonorable bosoms they slunk away and were seen no more and Selia was left triumphant on the field which was a neat little plot of green amidst all the cheering multitude, and the Queen bekoned and she went back up into the socierty part, hanging her head with modesty.

“Cheers” said the King kindly as she strode up, and the Queen took her hand and patted it and said “You are made of good stuff my dear and will make a good man happy” at which she made a meaning sign to Mr. Withersq.

With a deep blush Selia slopped into his arms and he placed a kiss on her lip at which all present cried aloud and smiled and were delited to see a romance of the kind.

“I hereby announce that my Head Poet and his young lady Selia are engaged” then said the King stroking his beard and he was the first to shake hands with the honorable and lucky Harold.

Just then a page boy stepped up with a great bouquet in his hands which he laid at Selia’s feet. So Mr. Withersq gave him a bob and on the bouquet was a little label saying “With all good wishes from the boys” so Selia knew she had not been forgot by her old friends.

And now let us take leave of Mr. Withersq with his Selia in his arms surrounded by royalty and the flower of England’s socierty, he the Head Poet and she the Queen of Sport. For what more could their hearts desire?

Transcriber’s Note

Spelling has been left as printed, except that the sole instance of “Mr. Withers” has been amended to read “Mr. Withersq”; a handful of opening quotation marks have been adjusted for clarity.

Inconsistent hyphenation (dressing-gown/dressing gown, eating-apartment/eating apartment, house-boat/houseboat, life-buoy/lifebuoy, limerick-poet/limerick poet, page-boy/page boy, well-known/well known) has been retained.

The character Emilyon Boom is also sometimes “Emilian Boom” and sometimes “Boon”; this variation has been retained.

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Table of Contents

Splashing into Society

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Last Chapter

Transcriber’s Note

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