It was about a week later that Mr. Andrew McKinnon, the senior partner in the well-known firm of Hterary agents, McKinnon & Gooch, sat in his office in Chancery Lane, frowning thoughtfully over a telegram. He rang the bell.
" Ask Mr. Gooch to step in here." He
resumed his study of the telegram. " Oh, Gooch," he said when his partner appeared, " I've just had a curious wire from young Rodman. He seems to want to see me very urgently."
Mr. Gooch read the telegram.
" Written under the influence of some strong mental excitement," he agreed. " I wonder why he doesn't come to the office if he wants to see you so badly."
" He's working very hard, finishing that novel for Prodder & Wiggs. Can't leave it, I suppose. Well, it's a nice day. If you will look after things here I think I'll motor down and let him give me lunch."
As Mr. McKinnon's car reached the crossroads a mile from Honeysuckle Cottage, he was aware of a gesticulating figure by the hedge. He stopped the car.
" Morning, Rodman."
*' Thank God, you've come ! " said James. It seemed to Mr. McKinnon that the young man looked paler and thinner. " Would you mind walking the rest of the way ? There's something I want to speak to you about."
Mr. McKinnon ahghted ; and James, as
he glanced at him, felt cheered and encouraged by the very sight of the man. The literary agent was a grim, hard-bitten person, to whom, when he called at their offices to arrange terms, editors kept their faces turned so that they might at least retain their back collar studs. There was no sentiment in Andrew McKinnon. Editresses of society papers practised their blandishments on him in vain, and many a publisher had waked screaming in the night, dreaming that he was signing a McKinnon contract.
'' Well, Rodman,^' he said, " Prodder & Wiggs have agreed to our terms. I was writing to tell you so when your wire arrived. I had a lot of trouble with them, but it's fixed at 20 per cent., rising to 25, and two hundred pounds advance royalties on day of publication."
" Good ! " said James absently. " Good ! McKinnon, do you remember my aunt, Leila J. Pinckney ? "
" Remember her ? Why, I was her agent all her Hfe."
" Of course. Then you know the sort of tripe she wrote."
" No author," said Mr. McKinnon re-
provingly, " who pulls down a steady twenty thousand pounds a year writes tripe."
" Well anyway, you know her stuff."
" W^o better ? "
" W'Tien she died she left me five thousand pounds and her house, Honej^suckle Cottage. I'm hving there now. McKinnon, do you believe in haunted houses ? "
"No."
" Yet I tell you solemnly that Honeysuckle Cottage is haunted ! "
" By your aunt ? " said Mr. McKinnon, surprised.
" By her influence. There's a malignant spell over the place ; a sort of miasma of sentimentalism. Everybody who enters it succumbs."
" Tut-tut! You mustn't have these fancies."
" They aren't fancies."
" You aren't seriously meaning to tell me
" Well, how do you account for this ? That book you were speaking about, which Prodder & Wiggs are to publish— The Secret Nine. Every time I sit down to write it a girl keeps trying to sneak in."
" Into the room ?
" Into the story."
"You don't want a love interest in your sort of book," said Mr. McKinnon, shaking his head. " It delays the action."
" I know it does. And every day I have to keep shooing this infernal female out. An awful girl, McKinnon. A soppy, soupy, treacly, drooping girl with a roguish smile. This morning she tried to butt in on the scene where Lester Gage is trapped in the den of the mysterious leper."
"No! "
" She did, I assure you. I had to rewrite three pages before I could get her out of it. And that's not the worst. Do you know, McKinnon, that at this moment I am actually hving the plot of a typical Leila May Pinckney novel in just the setting she always used! And I can see the happy ending coming nearer every day ! A week ago a girl was knocked down by a car at my door and I've had to put her up, and every day I reahse more clearly that sooner or later I shaU ask her to marry me."
" Don't do it," said Mr. McKinnon, a stout bachelor. " You're too young to marry."
" So was Methuselah/' said James, a stouter. " But all the same I know I'm going to do it. It's the influence of this awful house weighing upon me. I feel like an eggshell in a maelstrom. I am being sucked on by a force too strong for me to resist. This morning I found myself kissing her dog !
''No! "
"I did ! And I loathe the httle beast. Yesterday I got up at dawn and plucked a nosegay of flowers for her, wet with the dew."
" Rodman ! "
" It's a fact. I laid them at her door and went downstairs kicking myself all the way. And there in the hall was the apple-cheeked housekeeper regarding me archly. If she didn't murmur ' Bless their sweet young hearts ! ' my ears deceived me."
" WTiy don't you pack up and leave ? "
" If I do I lose the five thousand pounds."
" Ah ! " said Mr. McKinnon.
" I can understand what has happened. It's the same with all haunted houses. My aunt's subhminal ether vibrations have woven themselves into the texture of the place, oreating an atmosphere which forces the
ego of all who come in contact with it to attune themselves to it. It's either that or something to do with the fourth dimension."
Mr. McKinnon laughed scornfully.
" Tut-tut ! " he said again. " This is pure imagination. What has happened is that you've been working too hard. You'll see this precious atmosphere of yours will have no effect on me."
" That's exactly why I asked you to come down. I hoped you might break the
spell."
'' I will that," said Mr. McKinnon jovially.
The fact that the hterary agent spoke Httle at lunch caused James no apprehension. Mr. McKinnon was ever a silent trencherman. From time to time James caught him steahng a glance at the girl, who was well enough to come down to meals now, limping pathetically ; but he could read nothing in his face. And yet the mere look of his face was a consolation. It was so soUd, so matter of fact, so exactly like an unemotional coconut.
" You've done me good," said James with a sigh of reUef, as he escorted the agent down the garden to his car after lunch. " I felt all along that I could rely on your
rugged common sense. The whole atmosphere of the place seems different now."
Mr. McKinnon did not speak for a moment. He seemed to be plunged in thought.
" Rodman/' he said, as he got into his car, " I've been thinking over that suggestion of yours of putting a love interest into The Secret Nine. I think you're wise. The story needs it. After all, what is there greater in the world than love ? Love-love—aye, it's the sweetest word in the language. Put in a heroine and let her marry Lester Gage."
" If," said James grimly, " she does succeed in worming her way in she'U jolly well marry the mysterious leper. But look here, I don't understand "
"It was seeing that girl that changed me," proceeded Mr. McKinnon. And as James stared at him aghast, tears suddenly filled his hard-boiled eyes. He openly snuffled. " Aye, seeing her sitting there under the roses, with all that smell of honeysuckle and all. And the birdies singing so sweet in the garden and the sun hghting up her bonny face. The puir wee lass ! " he muttered, dabbing at his eyes. " The puir
bonny wee lass! Rodman," he said, his voice quivering, " I've decided that we're being hard on Prodder & Wiggs. Wiggs has had sickness in his home lately. We mustn't be hard on a man who's had sickness in his home, hey, laddie ? No, no ! I'm going to take back that contract and alter it to a flat 12 per cent, and no advance royalties."
" What ! "
" But you shan't lose by it, Rodman. No, no, you shan't lose by it, my manny. I am going to waive my commission. The puir bonny wee lass ! "
The car rolled off down the road. Mr. McKinnon, seated in the back, was blowing his nose violently.
" This is the end ! " said James.
It is necessary at this point to pause and examine James Rodman's position with an unbiassed eye. The average man, unless he puts himself in James's place, wlQ be unable to appreciate it. James, he will feel, was making a lot of fuss about nothing. Here he was, drawing daily closer and closer to a charming girl with big blue eyes, and surely rather to be envied than pitied.
But we must remember that James was one of Nature's bachelors. And no ordinary man, looking forward dreamily to a little home of his own with a loving wife putting out his slippers and changing the gramophone records, can reahse the intensity of the instinct for self-preservation which animates Nature's bachelors in times of peril.
James Rodman had a congenital horror of matrimony. Though a young man, he had allowed himself to develop a great many habits which were as the breath of hfe to him ; and these habits, he knew instinctively, a wife would shoot to pieces within a week of the end of the honeymoon.
James liked to breakfast in bed ; and, having breakfasted, to smoke in bed and knock the ashes out on the carpet. What wife would tolerate this practice ?
James liked to pass his days in a tennis shirt, gray flannel trousers and slippers. What wife ever rests until she has inclosed her husband in a stiff collar, tight boots and a morning suit and taken him with her to thes musicales ?
These and a thousand other thoughts of the same kind flashed through the unfortu-
nate young man's mind as the days went by, and every day that passed seemed to draw him nearer to the brink of the chasm. Fate appeared to be taking a mahcious pleasure in making things as difficult for him as possible. Now that the girl was well enough to leave her bed, she spent her time sitting in a chair on the sun-sprinkled porch, and James had to read to her—and poetry, at that; and not the jolly, wholesome sort of poetry the boys are turning out nowadays, either—good, honest stuff about sin and gas works and decaying corpses— but the old-fashioned kind with rhymes in it, dealing almost exclusively with love. The weather, moreover, continued superb. The honeysuckle cast its sweet scent on the gentle breeze ; the roses over the porch stirred and nodded; the flowers in the garden were lovelier than ever ; the birds sang their Httle throats sore. And every evening there was a magnificent sunset. It was almost as if Nature were doing it on purpose.
At last James intercepted Doctor Brady as he was leaving after one of his visits and put the thing to him squarely :
" When is that girl going ? "
The doctor patted him on the arm.
*' Not yet, Rodman," he said in a low, understanding voice. " No need to worry yourself about that. Mustn't be moved for days and days and days—I might almost say weeks and weeks and weeks."
" Weeks and weeks ! " cried James.
" And weeks," said Doctor Brady. He prodded James roguishly in the abdomen. " Good luck to you, my boy, good luck to you," he said.
It was some small consolation to James that the mushy physician immediately afterward tripped over WiUiam on his way down the path and broke his stethoscope. When a man is up against it like James every little helps.
He was walking dismally back to the house after this conversation when he was met by the apple-cheeked housekeeper.
" The httle lady would hke to speak to you, sir," said the apple-cheeked exliibit. rubbing her hands.
" Would she ? " said James hollowly.
" So sweet and pretty she looks, sir—oh, sir, you wouldn't beheve ! Like a blessed
angel sitting there with her dear eyes all a-shining."
" Don't do it! " cried James with extraordinary vehemence. " Don't do it! "
He found the girl propped up on the cushions and thought once again how singularly he dishked her. And yet, even as he thought this, some force against which he had to fight madly was whispering to him, "Go to her and take that httle hand ! Breathe into that httle ear the burning words that will make that Uttle face turn away crimsoned with blushes ! " He wiped a bead of perspiration from his forehead and sat down.
" Mrs. Stick-in-the-Mud—what's her name ?—says you want to see me."
The girl nodded.
" I've had a letter from Uncle Henry. I wrote to him as soon as I was better and told him what had happened, and he is coming here to-morrow morning."
" Uncle Henry ? "
" That's what I call him, but he's really no relation. He is my guardian. He and daddy were officers in the same regiment, and when daddy was killed, fighting on the
K 2
Afghan frontier, he died in Uncle Henry's arms and with his last breath begged him to take care of me."
James started. A sudden wild hope had waked in his heart. Years ago, he remembered, he had read a book of his aunt's entitled Rupert's Legacy, and in that book
"I'm engaged to marry him," said the girl quietly.
" Wow ! " shouted James.
" What ? " asked the girl, startled.
" Touch of cramp," said James. He was thrilling all over. That wild hope had been realised.
" It was daddy's dying wish that we should marry," said the girl.
** And dashed sensible of him, too ; dashed sensible," said James warmly.
" And yet," she went on, a httle wistfully, " I sometimes wonder "
" Don't! " said James. " Don't! You must respect daddy's dying wish. There's nothing like daddy's dying wish ; you can't beat it. So he's coming here to-morrow, is he ? Capital, capital! To lunch, I suppose ? Excellent! I'll run down and tell Mrs. Who-Is-It to lay in another chop."
It was with a gay and uplifted heart that James strolled the garden and smoked his pipe next morning. A great cloud seemed to have rolled itself away from him. Everything was for the best in the best of all possible worlds. He had finished The Secret Nine and shipped it off to Mr. McKinnon, and now as he strolled there was shaping itself in his mind a corking plot about a man with only half a face who lived in a secret den and terrorised London with a series of shocking murders. And what made them so shocking was the fact that each of the victims, when discovered, was found to have only half a face too. The rest had been chipped off, presumably by some blunt instrument.
The thing was coming out magnificently, when suddenly his attention was diverted by a piercing scream. Out of the bushes fringing the river that ran beside the garden burst the apple-cheeked housekeeper.
" Oh, sir ! Oh, sir ! Oh, sir ! "
" What is it ? " demanded James irritably.
" Oh, sir ! Oh, sir ! Oh, sir ! ''
" Yes, and then what ?
" The little dog, sir ! He's in the river ! "
" Well, whistle him to come out."
" Oh, sir, do come quick ! He'U be drowned ! "
James followed her through the bushes, taking off his coat as he went. He was saying to himself, " I will not rescue this dog. I do not hke the dog. It is high time he had a bath, and in any case it would be much simpler to stand on the bank and fish for him with a rake. Only an ass out of a Leila J. Pinckney book would dive into a beastly river to save "
At this point he dived. Toto, alarmed by the splash, swam rapidly for the bank, but James was too quick for him. Grasping him firmly by the neck, he scrambled ashore and ran for the house, followed by the housekeeper.
The girl was seated on the porch. Over her there bent the taU soldierly figure of a man with keen eyes and graying hair. The housekeeper raced up.
" Oh, miss ! Toto ! In the river ! He saved him ! He plunged in and saved him ! ''
The girl drew a quick breath.
" Gallant, damme ! By Jove ! By gad !
Yes, gallant, by George ! " exclaimed the soldierly man.
The girl seemed to wake from a reverie.
" Uncle Henry, this is Mr. Rodman. Mr. Rodman, my guardian, Colonel Carteret."
" Proud to meet you, sir," said the colonel, his honest blue eyes glowing as he fingered his short crisp moustache. " As fine a thing as I ever heard of, damme ! "
" Yes, you are brave—brave," the girl whispered.
" I am wet—wet," said James, and went upstairs to change his clothes.
When he came down for lunch, he foimd to his relief that the girl had decided not to join them, and Colonel Carteret was silent and preoccupied. James, exerting himself in his capacity of host, tried him with the weather, golf, India, the Government, the high cost of living, first-class cricket, the modem dancing craze, and murderers he had met, but the other still preserved that strange, absent-minded silence. It was only when the meal was concluded and James had produced cigarettes that he came abruptly out of his trance.
" Rodman," he said, " I should like to speak to you."
" Yes ? " said James, thinking it was about time.
" Rodman," said Colonel Carteret, " or rather, George—I may call you George ? " he added, with a sort of wistful dif&dence that had a singular charm.
" Certainly," replied James, " if you wish it. Though my name is James."
" James, eh ? Well, well, it amounts to the same thing, eh, what, damme, by gad ? " said the colonel with a momentary return of his bluff soldierly manner. " Well, then, James, I have something that I wish to say to you. Did Miss Maynard—did Rose happen to tell you anything about myself in—er—in connection with herself ? "
" She mentioned that you and she were engaged to be married."
The colonel's tightly drawn lips quivered.
" No longer," he said.
" What ? "
" No, John, my boy."
" James."
" No, James, my boy, no longer. WTiile you were upstairs changing your clothes she
told me—breaking down, poor child, as she spoke—that she wished our engagement to be at an end."
James half rose from the table, his cheeks blanched.
" You don't mean that ! " he gasped.
Colonel Carteret nodded. He was staring out of the window, his fine eyes set in a look of pain.
" But this is nonsense ! " cried James. " This is absurd ! She—she mustn't be allowed to chop and change like this. I mean to say, it—it isn't fair "
" Don't think of me, my boy."
"I'm not—I mean, did she give any reason ? "
" Her eyes did."
" Her eyes did ? "
" Her eyes, when she looked at you on the porch, as you stood there—young, heroic —having just saved the hfe of the dog she loves. It is you who have won that tender heart, my boy."
" Now listen," protested James, " you aren't going to sit there and tell me that a girl falls in love with a man just because he saves her dog from drowning ? "
" Why, surely," said Colonel Carteret surprised. " \Miat better reason could she have ? " He sighed. " It is the old, old story, my boy. Youth to youth. I am an old man. I should have known—I should have foreseen—yes, youth to youth."
" You aren't a bit old."
" Yes, yes."
" No, no."
" Yes, yes."
" Don't keep on saying yes, yes ! " cried James, clutching at his hair. " Besides, she wants a steady old buffer—a steady, sensible man of medium age—to look after her."
Colonel Carteret shook his head with a gentle smile.
" This is mere quixotry, my boy. It is splendid of you to take this attitude ; but no, no."
les, yes.
" No, no." He gripped James's hand for an instant, then rose and walked to the door. " That is aU I wished to say, Tom."
" James."
" James. I just thought that you ought to know how matters stood. Go to her, my
boy, go to her, and don't let any thought of an old man's broken dream keep you from pouring out what is in your heart. I am an old soldier, lad, an old soldier. I have learned to take the rough with the smooth. But I think—I think I will leave you now. I—I should—should like to be alone for a while. If you need me you will find me in the raspberry bushes."
He had scarcely gone when James also left the room. He took his hat and stick and walked blindly out of the garden, he knew not whither. His brain was numbed. Then, as his powers of reasoning returned, he told himself that he should have foreseen this ghastly thing. If there was one type of character over which Leila J. Pinckney had been wont to spread herself, it was the pathetic guardian who loves his ward but rehnquishes her to the younger man. No wonder the girl had broken off the engagement. Any elderly guardian who allowed himself to come within a mile of Honeysuckle Cottage was simply asking for it. And then, as he turned to walk back, a sort of duU defiance gripped James. Why, he asked, should he be put upon in this manner ? If
the girl liked to throw over this man, why should he be the goat ?
He saw his way clearly now. He just wouldn't do it, that was all. And if they didn't hke it they could lump it.
Full of a new fortitude, he strode in at the gate. A tall, soldierly figure emerged from the raspberry bushes and came to meet him.
" Well ? " said Colonel Carteret.
" Well ? " said James defiantly.
" Am I to congratulate you ? "
James caught his keen blue eye and hesitated. It was not going to be so simple as he had supposed.
" Well-^r " he said.
Into the keen blue eyes there came a look that James had not seen there before. It was the stem, hard look which—probably— had caused men to bestow upon this old soldier the name of Cold-Steel Carteret.
" You have not asked Rose to marry you?
" Er—no ; not yet."
The keen blue eyes grew keener and bluer.
" Rodman," said Colonel Carteret in a strange, quiet voice, " I have known that
little girl since she was a tiny child. For years she has been all in all to me. Her father died in my arms and with his last breath bade me see that no harm came to his darling. I have nursed her through mumps, measles—aye, and chicken pox— and I live but for her happiness." He paused, with a significance that made James's toes curl. " Rodman," he said, " do you know what I would do to any man who trifled with that httle girl's affections ? " He reached in his hip pocket and an ugly-looking revolver glittered in the sunhght. " I would shoot him like a dog." " Like a dog ? " faltered James. " Like a dog," said Colonel Carteret. He took James's arm and turned him toward the house. " She is on the porch. Go to
her. And if " He broke off. "But
tut! " he said in a kindher tone. " I am doing you an injustice, my boy. I know it." " Oh, you are," said James fervently. " Your heart is in the right place." " Oh, absolutely," said James." " Then go to her, my boy. Later on you may have something to tell me. You will find me in the strawberry beds."
It was very cool and fragrant on the porch. Overhead, Uttle breezes played and laughed among the roses. Somewhere in the distance sheep bells tinkled, and in the shrubbery a thrush was singing its evensong.
Seated in her chair behind a wicker table laden with tea things. Rose Maynard watched James as he shambled up the path.
" Tea's ready," she called gaily. " Where is Uncle Henry } " A look of pity and distress flitted for a moment over her flower-Hke face. " Oh, I—I forgot," she whispered. "He is in the strawberry beds," said James in a low voice.
She nodded unhappily. " Of course, of course. Oh, why is Ufe Hke this ? " James heard her whisper.
He sat down. He looked at the girl. She was leaning back with closed eyes, and he thought he had never seen such a little squirt in his Hfe. The idea of passing his remaining days in her society revolted him. He was stoutly opposed to the idea of marrying anyone ; but if, as happens to the best of us, he ever were compelled to perform the wedding ghde, he had always hoped it would
be with some lady golf champion who would help him with his putting, and thus, by bringing his handicap down a notch or two, enable him to save something from the wreck, so to speak. But to Unk his lot with a girl who read his aunt's books and hked them ; a girl who could tolerate the presence of the dog Toto ; a girl who clasped her hands in pretty, childish joy when she saw a nasturtium in bloom—it was too much. Nevertheless, he took her hand and began to speak.
" Miss Maynard—Rose "
She opened her eyes and cast them down. A flush had come into her cheeks. The dog Toto at her side sat up and begged for cake, disregarded.
" Let me tell you a story. Once upon a time there was a lonely man who lived in a cottage all by himself "
He stopped. Was it James Rodman who was talking this bilge ?
" Yes ? " whispered the girl.
" but one day there came to him out
of nowhere a httle fairy princess. She "
He stopped again, but this time not because of the sheer shame of listening to his own voice. WTiat caused him to interrupt
his tale was the fact that at this moment the tea table suddenly began to rise slowly in the air, tilting as it did so a considerable quantity of hot tea on to the knees of his trousers.
** Ouch ! " cried James, leaping.
The table continued to rise, and then fell sideways, reveaUng the homely countenance of William, who, concealed by the cloth, had been taking a nap beneath it. He moved slowly forward, his eyes on Toto. For many a long day William had been desirous of putting to the test, once and for all, the problem of whether Toto was edible or not. Sometimes he thought yes, at other times no. Now seemed an admirable opportunity for a definite decision. He advanced on the object of his experiment, making a low whistling noise through his nostrils, not unhke a boiHng kettle. And Toto, after one long look of incredulous horror, tucked his shapely tail between his legs and, turning, raced for safety. He had laid a course in a bee line for the open garden gate, and Wilham, shaking a dish of marmalade off his head a Uttle petulantly, galloped ponderously after him. Rose Maynard staggered to her feet.
" Oh, save him ! " she cried.
Without a word James added himself to the procession. His interest in Toto was but tepid. What he wanted was to get near enough to WiUiam to discuss with him that matter of the tea on his trousers. He reached the road and found that the order of the runners had not changed. For so small a dog, Toto was moving magnificently. A cloud of dust rose as he skidded round the comer. WiUiam followed. James followed WiUiam.
And so they passed Farmer Birkett's bam. Farmer Giles' cow shed, the place where Farmer Willetts' pigsty used to be before the big fire, and the Bunch of Grapes pubhc house, Jno. Biggs propr., hcensed to seU tobacco, wines and spirits. And it was as they were turning down the lane that leads past Farmer Robinson's chicken run that Toto, thinking swiftly, bolted abruptly into a small drain pipe.
" WiUiam ! " roared James, coming up at a canter. He stopped to pluck a branch from the hedge and swooped darkly on.
W^iUiam had been crouching before the pipe, making a noise like a bassoon into its
interior; but now he rose and came beamingly to James. His eyes were aglow with chumminess and affection ; and placing his forefeet on James's chest, he licked him three times on the face in rapid succession. And as he did so, something seemed to snap in James. The scales seemed to fall from James's eyes. For the first time he saw WilUam as he really was, the authentic type of dog that saves his master from a frightful peril. A wave of emotion swept over him.
" WiUiam ! " he muttered. " WiUiam ! "
WiUiam was making an early supper off a half brick he had found in the road. James stooped and patted him fondly.
" WiUiam," he whispered, " you knew when the time had come to change the conversation, didn't you, old boy! " He straightened himself. " Come, WiUiam," he said. " Another four mUes and we reach Meadowsweet Junction. Make it snappy and we shall just catch the up express, first stop London."
WiUiam looked up into his face and it seemed to James that he gave a brief nod of comprehension and approval. James
turned. Through the trees to the east he could see the red roof of Honeysuckle Cottage, lurking like some evil dragon in ambush.
Then, together, man and dog passed silently into the sunset.
That (concluded Mr. MuUiner) is the story of my distant cousin James Rodman. As to whether it is true, that, of course, is an open question. I, personally, am of opinion that it is. There is no doubt that James did go to live at Honeysuckle Cottage and, while there, underwent some experience which has left an ineradicable mark upon him. His eyes to-day have that unmistakable look which is to be seen only in the eyes of confirmed bachelors whose feet have been dragged to the very brink of the pit and who have gazed at close range into the naked face of matrimony.
And, if further proof be needed, there is William. He is now James's inseparable companion. Would any man be habitually seen in public with a dog Uke William unless he had some soHd cause to be grateful to him,—unless they were hnked together by some deep and imperishable memory ? I think not. Myself, when I observe William
coining along the street, I cross the road and look into a shop window till he has passed. I am not a snob, but I dare not risk my position in Society by being seen talking to that curious compound.
Nor is the precaution an unnecessary one. There is about William a shameless absence of appreciation of class distinctions which recalls the worst excesses of the French Revolution. I have seen him with these eyes chivvy a pomeranian belonging to a Baroness in her own right from near the Achilles Statue to within a few yards of the Marble Arch.
And yet James walks daily with him. in Piccadilly. It is surely significant.
THE END
BOOKS OF LAUGHTER
BY
P. G. WODEHOUSE
Mr, Wodehouse is a national humourist."— Manchester Guardian.
PICCADILLY JIM
The adventures of Piccadilly Jim, the young American, wfco is intent on enjoying life. His aunt, however, holds stricter views. A brilliant comedy of raisidentificBtion. 2/6 net
A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS
A comedy of Piccadilly and elsewhere. It all began when George Bevan hid the pretty stranger in his taxi. The girl then disappears, but George determines to find her. His quest involves him in manjr strange and embarrassing situations. 2/6 net
THE COMING OF BILL
Mrs. Nora Delane Porter had ideas ; that was the beginning of all the trouble. She didn't trust nature's laws of selection. The most perfect children corae from the most perfect adults—that was her theory. Of luch an ideal marriage Bill is born ; the White Hope they called him.
2/6 net
THE GIRL ON THE BOAT
Sam Marlow fell in love with a girl who had ideaU. She was looking for a Sir Galahad. A lucky accident placed Sam for the moment in the Galahad class, but he could not stay the pace. A novel of great humour.
2/6 net
THE CLICKING OF CUTHBERT
A book of laughter for golfers and others. Cuthbert Banks, though handsome and plus four, could not impress the girl of his heart. But his position improved when an eminent Russian novelist kissed him on both cheeks before the entiire literary society. Incidentally, the author relates, from ancient history, how golf was introduced into the kingdom of Oom by the captive from S'nandrew's. 2/6 net
JILL THE RECKLESS
Jill had money. Jill was engaged to Sir Derek Underbill. Suddenly Jill becomes penniless, and she is no longer engaged I It is a comedy-drama with a delightful heroine and a charming love interest.
2/6 net
INDISCRETIONS OF ARCHIE
The story of Archie and how he married the daughter of an hotel-proprietor, and of the consequences. Enough said that this marriage did not please everybody. 2/6 net
MORE NOVELS
BY
p. G. WODEHOUSE
8
rnm^
10
11
12
13
LOVE AMONG THE CHICKENS
Ukridge gets his friend Garnet to help him run a chicken farm. Then the birds get roup, Uscridjfe gets the pip, the eggs don't come, and Garnet's love affair doesn't prosper. It is only the reader who can afford to laugh. Ukridge is a great creation. 2/6 net
UKRIDGE
Ukridge is always on the verge of making a fortune, but Dame Fortune eludes him in his scheme about the dog college, and in Iiis backing of Battling Biilson, the tender-hearted pugilist. But hope and Geori;e 1 upper keep Ukridge going. 2/6 nst
A GENTLEMAN OF LEISURE
Jimmy Pitt bet a friend he would commit a burglary, but unfortunately selects the wrong house. That was the beginning of all the trouble, that and Molly McEachern. The book is full of humoroos situations.
2 6 net
THE ADVENTURES OF SALLY
A comedy novel of to-day. Sally was delightful, pretty, rich, and engaged to be married. Fate, however, together with Ginger Kemp and her brother, Fillmore, was waiting round the corner, and life for Sally became a perfect maelstrom of incident and happenings.
2^6 net
LEAVE IT TO PSMITH
Freddie Threepwood and his uncle are both in financial need. Freddie suggests stealing his aunt's necklace and enlists the services of the versatile Psuith. This humorous story tells, amongst other things, whether Psmith is suocesbfuJ, and whether he succeeds in capturing the afiections of Eve for Freddie. 2/ 6 net
THE INIMITABLE JEEVES
When eitker Bertie Wooster or his friends found themselveo in the (oup or in dangerous proximity to the tureen, the instinct ci one and all was to tura to Jeeves—Bertie's man. He understood human nature, especially that of gilded youth. 2/6 net
CARRY ON, JEEVES
When the jolly old storm clouds roll up, Bertie Wooster turns instinctfvcly to his man, Jeeves. Je«ves is a paragon who always helps his master and his master's friends out of any beastly hole ihey may fall into.
^6 net
HEKBERT JENKINS. LTD., 3. YORK STREET, ST. JAMES'S, LONDON, S.W.L
BOOKS OF LAUGHTER
BY
P, G. WODEHOUSE
THE HEART OF A GOOF
2s. 6i. net
Ferdinand Dibble should have been a competent golfer—but he was a goof. That he loved Barbara Medway was beyond a doubt; but he hadn't the nerve to ask her to marry him. Every time he felt he had mustered up enough pep to propose, he took ten on a bogey three. And then self-confidence left him.
Spectator. —" The fun never flags. . . . Mr. Wode-honse is one of the most genuine humorists of the age, and with each new book his powers develop. This is his best so far."
Sunday Express. —" My humorometer registered a laugh on every page. On some pages it choked—with laughter."
MEET MR. MULLINER
7s. 6^. net
This book provides laughter, laughter all the way. Meet Mr. Mulhner and the spirits soar upwards. He relates some truly remarkable adventures. He is blessed, too, with a bevy of priceless relatives who keep the ball of fun rolling in no uncertain fashion. There is nephew Lancelot, cousin Clarence, the bulb squeezer or photographer, nephew George, cursed with a terrible stammer, and brother Wilfred who was clean bowled over by Miss Angela Purdue. In this bright company no one can fail to be amused.
The New Statesman says of P. G. Wodehouse: "Mr. Wodehouse is a creature of pure light and joy, and it doesn't matter what he writes about."
HERBERT JENKINS, LTD., 3 YORK STREET LONDON, S.W.I
HERBERT JENKINS^
HALF-CROWN
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THE HEART OF A GOOF
By p. G. WODEHOUSE.
A book of laughter by the National Humorist. The Spectator. —" The fun never flags. . . . Mr. Wodehouse is one of the most genuine humorists of the age, and with each new book his powers develop. This is his best so far."
THE BACKSLTOERS
By EDGAR JEPSON, Author of The Buried Rubies. A story of " Bohemian " life, Chelsea and an earldom, told in a vein of brilliant humour. Daily Telegraph. —" A joyous thing to read."
MORE MRS. 'ARRIS
By CLIFFORD B. POULTNEY, Author of Mrs. 'Arris. The reader is introduced to further humorous exploits of the Cockney housewife. A book of side-splitting laughter.
Glasgow Evening News. —" Keeps its fun going breathlessly from beginning to end."
THE GOLDEN SCARAB
By Maj.-Gen. Sir JOHN ADYE, K.C.M.G., Author of Who killed Lord Henry Rollestone ? An uncanny mystery story concerning a scarab which brings misfortune to all its owners. Truth. —" A capital yarn."
FERRIS OF THE CHERRY-TREES
By J. S. FLETCHER. Author of Daniel Quayne. The story of Mark Taffendale's love for a young married girl. A drama of love, passion and self-sacrifice.
HERBERT JENKINS, LTD., 3 YORK STREET, LONDON, S.W.i
HERBERT JENKINS'
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THE MORTOVER GRANGE MYSTERY
By J. S. FLETCHER, Author of Sea Fog. A brilliant and intriguing mystery story. New Statesman. —" This is one of the best he has ever written, and does not in actual fact contain one page which we found dull."
MRS. MAY
By THOMAS LE BRETON. Author of Mr. and Mrs. May. Mrs. May, the Cockney charlady, is a famous character in humorous fiction. Liverpool Post. —" A really first-rate book of humour."
THE INEVITABLE CRIME
By PATRICK LEYTON, Author of The Man Who Knew. An original and ingenious detective story. Truth. —" The story gets you in its grip from the outset and holds you securely."
RED RADIO
By F. E. FARNCOMBE and R. L. HADFIELD,
Authors of Ruled by Radio. A thrilling adventure story in which the authors have pictured the advent of the Death Ray, and have introduced its use in a war between two nations.
THE FAMILY WITCH
By a. B. COX, Author of Brenda Entertains.
A book of sheer laughter, dealing with the love-affair of Lord Charles and Pamela. Liverpool Post. —" Riotously funny tale." Western Mail. —" A rollicking story."
HERBERT JENKINS, LTD., 3 YORK STREET, LONDON, S.W.i
BOOKS BY
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BINDLE
Some chapters In the Life of Joseph Blndle. Of the popular edition, 190,000 copies have already been called for. 28. M. net.
THE NIGHT CLUB
Further episodes In the career of Blndle. No less than 37,000 copies of the ordinary edition were called for within a few weeka of pubUcatloa. 2s. 6d. net.
ADVENTURES OF BINDLE
A seeond edition, completing 60,000 copies, was ordered before the book appeared. Further episodes in the career of J.B.
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MRS. BINDLE
Some incidents from the life of the Bindles. Amoftg other things, it narrates how Mrs. Biudle encountered a bull and what happened to the man who destroyed her geraniums.
28. ad. net.
THE BINDLES ON THE ROCKS
Aiiother volume of stories of the Uindle m«nap«. Poor old Kindle loses his Job and hard times are endured, but his good fi-iends raQy round wlion his plight is discovered. Ss. ttd. net.
JOHN DENE OF TORONTO
A comedy of WhltehaU which struck a new note and achieved a new success. 28. 6d. net.
MALCOLM SAGE, DETECTIVE
Some chapters from the records of the Malcolm Bage Bureau. A book of thrills and mystery. 2s. 6d. net.
PATRICIA BRENT, SPINSTER
A comedy of our own times that stirred five continents to laugliter. It baa been Uanslat«d Into Swedish, Dutch, Norwegian, etc. ^- ^- '''*•
9 THE RAIN-GIRL
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A romance of to-day, telHnp how Blchard Beresford threw np a post at the Foreign Office and set out to tramp the roa<l8 as a va^ibond. 28. 6d. net.
THE RETURN OF ALFRED
A comedy of rais-ldentiflcaUon by which a man is proclaimed a returned prodigal. 28. 6d. net.
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