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    Delphi Collected Works of J. S. Fletcher US (Illustrated)
    Delphi Collected Works of J. S. Fletcher US (Illustrated)
    Delphi Collected Works of J. S. Fletcher US (Illustrated)
    Ebook8,489 pages134 hours

    Delphi Collected Works of J. S. Fletcher US (Illustrated)

    By J. S. Fletcher

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    About this ebook

    Although little known today, the English novelist J. S. Fletcher was one of the highest selling writers of the early twentieth century. He wrote more than 230 books covering a range of genres and subjects, including social dramas, exciting thrillers and celebrated historical novels. It is as a pioneering writer of detective fiction that he is being reappraised in the twenty-first century, recognising his important contribution to the development of the genre. Gripping novels like ‘The Middle Temple Murder’ and ‘The Charing Cross Mystery’ are renowned for their complicated, intelligently structured plots, colourful characterisation and unputdownable events. This comprehensive collection presents J. S. Fletcher's collected works, with numerous illustrations, many rare texts, informative introductions and the usual Delphi bonus material. (Version 1)


    * Beautifully illustrated with images relating to Fletcher’s life and works
    * Concise introductions to the major novels
    * 30 novels, with individual contents tables
    * Features rare novels appearing for the first time in digital publishing, including his almost lost first two novels, ‘Frank Carisbroke’s Stratagem’ and ‘Andrewlina’
    * Fletcher's very rare and compelling historical novel 'When Charles the First Was King', appearing here for the first time in digital publishing
    * Images of how the books were first published, giving your eReader a taste of the original texts
    * Excellent formatting of the texts
    * Rare story collections
    * Includes Fletcher’s rare poetry collections – available in no other collection
    * Ordering of texts into chronological order and genres


    Please visit www.delphiclassics.com to browse through our range of titles


    CONTENTS:


    The Novels
    Frank Carisbroke’s Stratagem (1888)
    Andrewlina (1889)
    Mr. Spivey’s Clerk (1890)
    When Charles the First Was King (1892)
    In the Days of Drake (1895)
    Where Highways Cross (1895)
    Mistress Spitfire (1896)
    Baden Powell of Mafeking (1900)
    Lucian the Dreamer (1903)
    Perris of the Cherry-Trees (1913)
    The King versus Wargrave (1915)
    The Rayner-Slade Amalgamation (1917)
    Paul Campenhaye (1918)
    The Chestermarke Instinct (1918)
    The Borough Treasurer (1919)
    The Middle Temple Murder (1919)
    The Talleyrand Maxim (1919)
    Scarhaven Keep (1920)
    The Herapath Property (1920)
    The Lost Mr. Linthwaite (1920)
    The Orange-Yellow Diamond (1920)
    The Markenmore Mystery (1921)
    The Root of All Evil (1921)
    Wrychester Paradise (1921)
    In the Mayor’s Parlour (1922)
    Ravensdene Court (1922)
    The Middle of Things (1922)
    The Charing Cross Mystery (1923)
    The Kang-He Vase (1924)
    The Safety Pin (1924)


    The Shorter Fiction
    Mr. Poskitt’s Nightcaps (1910)
    The Secret of the Barbican and Other Stories (1924)
    Miscellaneous Stories


    The Poetry Collections
    The Juvenile Poems of Joseph S. Fletcher (1879)
    Early Poems by Joseph Smith Fletcher (1882)
    Anima Christi (1884)


    Please visit www.delphiclassics.com to browse through our range of titles or to purchase this eBook as a Parts Edition of individual eBooks

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDelphi Classics Ltd
    Release dateApr 2, 2020
    ISBN9781913487195
    Delphi Collected Works of J. S. Fletcher US (Illustrated)
    Author

    J. S. Fletcher

    Joseph Smith Fletcher (1863-1935) was a journalist and the author of over 200 books. Born in Halifax, West Yorkshire, he studied law before turning to journalism. His earlier works were either histories or historical fiction, and he was made a fellow of the Royal Historical Society. He didn't start writing mysteries until 1914, though before he died he had written over 100 in the genre.

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      Delphi Collected Works of J. S. Fletcher US (Illustrated) - J. S. Fletcher

      The Collected Works of

      J. S. FLETCHER

      (1863-1935)

      Contents

      The Novels

      Frank Carisbroke’s Stratagem (1888)

      Andrewlina (1889)

      Mr. Spivey’s Clerk (1890)

      When Charles the First Was King (1892)

      In the Days of Drake (1895)

      Where Highways Cross (1895)

      Mistress Spitfire (1896)

      Baden Powell of Mafeking (1900)

      Lucian the Dreamer (1903)

      Perris of the Cherry-Trees (1913)

      The King versus Wargrave (1915)

      The Rayner-Slade Amalgamation (1917)

      Paul Campenhaye (1918)

      The Chestermarke Instinct (1918)

      The Borough Treasurer (1919)

      The Middle Temple Murder (1919)

      The Talleyrand Maxim (1919)

      Scarhaven Keep (1920)

      The Herapath Property (1920)

      The Lost Mr. Linthwaite (1920)

      The Orange-Yellow Diamond (1920)

      The Markenmore Mystery (1921)

      The Root of All Evil (1921)

      Wrychester Paradise (1921)

      In the Mayor’s Parlour (1922)

      Ravensdene Court (1922)

      The Middle of Things (1922)

      The Charing Cross Mystery (1923)

      The Kang-He Vase (1924)

      The Safety Pin (1924)

      The Shorter Fiction

      Mr. Poskitt’s Nightcaps (1910)

      The Secret of the Barbican and Other Stories (1924)

      Miscellaneous Stories (1907)

      The Poetry Collections

      The Juvenile Poems of Joseph S. Fletcher (1879)

      Early Poems by Joseph Smith Fletcher (1882)

      Anima Christi (1884)

      The Delphi Classics Catalogue

      © Delphi Classics 2020

      Version 1

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      The Collected Works of

      J. S. FLETCHER

      By Delphi Classics, 2020

      COPYRIGHT

      Collected Works of J. S. Fletcher (US version)

      First published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by Delphi Classics.

      © Delphi Classics, 2020.

      All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form other than that in which it is published.

      ISBN: 9781913487195

      Delphi Classics

      is an imprint of

      Delphi Publishing Ltd

      Hastings, East Sussex

      United Kingdom

      Contact: sales@delphiclassics.com

      www.delphiclassics.com

      Explore classic thrillers with Delphi Classics

      For the first time in digital publishing history, Delphi Classics is proud to present the complete works of these thrilling authors.

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      The Novels

      Halifax, a minster town in West Yorkshire — Fletcher’s birthplace

      Halifax in 1834

      Frank Carisbroke’s Stratagem (1888)

      J. S. Fletcher was born in 1863 in Halifax, Yorkshire, England and at the age of eighteen went to London to get into journalism. He worked on a few newspapers before moving into freelance writing. His first novel originally appeared in August 1888 as part of Jarrold’s Railway Library; some editions changed the name of the hero from Carisbroke to Carisbrooke. With fewer than thirty thousand words, this is very much a novelette, but then Jarrold’s Railway Library was meant to publish the sort of literature you could read on a train journey, so this was ideal.

      It tells the story of Frank Carisbroke, in his early twenties, tall, frank…with an expression of happiness and good humor. His late father has left him a fortune and with no other family he lives comfortably with an income of five thousand a year. To help fill his time he’s been learning how to be an acrobat at the local circus, run by Mr and Mrs Gammidge and their daughter Tottie.

      He brings his fiancée Maude and her family to the circus, but they’re not amused when Frank leaps into the ring to help Tottie when she falls of her horse during a performance. After they return home, Frank, smoking a cigar in the garden, overhears Maude and her mother talking, saying how she was only marrying him for his money. Frank, after some thought, disappears up to London for a week and when he comes back, it seems he has lost all of his money. Maude cancels their engagement and Frank is forced to get a job at the circus. However, Gammidge’s circus is running out of money and can’t afford to pay its bills. What will Frank do?

      As it was a novelette, Frank Carisbroke’s Stratagem was largely ignored by critics, though one or two called it a lovely little story, whilst The Pall Mall Gazette simply noted that it was neatly got up.

      Fletcher as a young man

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER I.

      CHAPTER II.

      CHAPTER III.

      CHAPTER IV.

      CHAPTER V.

      CHAPTER VI.

      CHAPTER VII.

      CHAPTER VIII.

      CHAPTER IX.

      CHAPTER X.

      CHAPTER XI.

      CHAPTER XII.

      High Street, Ashford, Kent — the setting of the novel. Frank’s apartments are located on the High Street.

      High Street, Ashford, in the early Victorian era

      TO

      W. H. HARVEY, B. A.,

      IN REMEMBRANCE

      OF MANY YEARS’ PLEASANT FRIENDSHIP.

      Bradford, June 21st, 1888

      CHAPTER I.

      GAMMIDGE’S ROYAL CIRCUS.

      IF ONLY HE belonged to the profession! said the tall man with a sigh of regret.

      He looked into the ring as he spoke, where a young man in acrobatic costume was disporting himself with considerable agility on a cross-bar. He would be a regular success, and no mistake, he continued, as the subject of his admiration gyrated and turned cart wheels and twisted himself into strange attitudes, al; with great ease and evident enjoyment. He’s as clever as — as I am.

      Ah! said the little man at his side. Well — nearly, and that’s a-sayin’ of a great deal, ain’t it?

      I suppose so, said the tall individual carelessly, but you mark me, Gammidge, this young feller would have made a tip-topper in my line. He’d have earned a pot of money, that he would.

      ’E don’t want it, my boy, ’e don’t want it, answered Mr. Gammidge, ‘E’s got plenty of ’is own.

      Yes, said the other. I know that. So had I once.

      ‘Ad you, now, ‘ad you? said the little man sympathetically. I always thought there was some mystery about you, my boy. Well, we’ve all of us ‘ad our troubles, I s’pose, and we’ve got to bear ’em somehow.

      That’s it, said the big man, rubbing his red nose reflectively. But the party who gives out the troubles don’t always seem to divide ’em fairly, eh?

      I don’t know about that, answered Mr. Gammidge. "I s’pose it’s somethin’ to do with Providence, my boy. Providence don’t go far wrong in the long run. I’ve always found the troubles and the pleasures to balance pretty well. I guess so do most folks."

      No, they don’t, said the red-nosed individual, no, they don’t. Not by a long chalk.

      Well, said Mr. Gammidge. "Perhaps you’re right, Murfioni, my boy. I don’t say you’re not. We must all speak for ourselves, my boy; we must all speak for ourselves."

      He sauntered away towards a dark corner of the ring, where two seedy individuals, whose cheeks were very white and whose noses were just as red, were laboriously perfecting a new joke for that evening’s performance. Both looked exceedingly serious, and from the painful expression of their faces one would have thought they were about to undergo some terrible ordeal. Mr. Gammidge paused by them a moment, and then passed on to the entrance from the stables, where a young lady was preparing to mount a gentle-looking steed, on whose back two grooms were carefully strapping a saddle.

      Goin’ to practise a bit, Tottie? said Mr. Gammidge.

      Yes, pa’, just five minutes, answered the young lady. I’m not quite sure about that new step, and I don’t want no accidents — not me!

      That’s right, said Mr. Gammidge approvingly. There’s nothin’ like practice. You’ll make a clever gel, Tottie, if you keep on a-practisin’. I shouldn’t wonder if you’ll be asked to engage with Sanger’s or Hengler’s some of these days.

      I’d rather stop with Gammidge’s Royal, answered Miss Tottie, springing up to her saddle. Let him go, Bill.

      She’d rather stop with Gammidge’s Royal, said Mr. Gammidge, his watery eyes following Miss Tottie in her progress round the ring. She’s a good gel, a good gel. She’s fond of her old dad, too.

      He stood watching her for a while, his old face full of pride in his girl’s cleverness. He himself had not been so clever in his calling as to prevent the accumulation of those troubles which he had just mentioned to Signor Murfioni. Thomas Gammidge had known plenty of troubles in his time, but he had pushed through them all somehow, and the Royal Circus was still going the round of the provinces. And its proprietor was still able to wear a glossy silk hat on one side of his curly head, and to smoke a good cigar as he strolled about the ring of a morning to see what his people were doing.

      Well, old Gammidge! said a cheery voice at his elbow, as he still stood admiring Miss Tottie’s aerial flights.

      How you did make me jump, my boy! said Mr. Gammidge, turning round. I didn’t see you’d left your practisin’. You’re a-improvin’ on the trapeze wonderful, Mr. Carisbroke, you are, indeed, sir.

      And I feel much better for it, said Mr. Carisbroke, who had changed his acrobatic costume for a light grey suit, which showed off his athletic figure to much advantage. My chest is expanding tremendously.

      I’m sure it will, my boy, said Mr. Gammidge sympathetically, as though the stalwart young fellow at his side were an invalid. "It’ll do you a deal of good. But you should ha’ bin in the profession, my boy, you should. Why, Murfioni there, ’e says you can do all the tricks he’s shown you to perfection!"

      Oh, said Mr. Carisbroke, it’s only a lark, don’t you know! I know I can pick up things pretty quickly.

      I should think so, indeed, said old Gammidge.

      But of course I can’t do things like Murfioni. A fellow must have something to do in the mornings, don’t you know. I believe in a sound body, eh?

      Yes, my boy, and so do I. You’ve done yourself a lot of good a-practisin’ on these here trapezes.

      I’m thinking of starting one in my rooms, don’t you know. said Mr. Carisbroke. Must have somewhere to practise when you’re gone, eh, Gammidge?

      Of course, answered Mr. Gammidge. Yes, we shall on’y be here another six weeks, Mr. Carisbroke, sir; we shall have to go then.

      By Jove, Gammidge, I shall really be sorry when you go. I’ve enjoyed myself awfully, don’t you know, learning all these things, said the young man.

      He was a tall, frank, open-faced fellow, perhaps twenty-three years old, with an expression of happiness and good-humour which was very taking. His curly brown hair and moustache matched his brown eyes, and his hands and face were tanned from constant exposure to the sun. Frank Carisbroke was accustomed to spend all his life out of doors, and what with cricket and tennis in summer, and hunting and football in winter, he had brought his athletic figure to something well-nigh like perfection. Lately he had been amusing himself by taking lessons in gymnastics from the talented Signor Murfioni of Gammidge’s Royal Circus.

      Yes, I shall be sorry when you go, he repeated, looking at the sawdust-sprinkled ring, the dingy boards, the tawdry hangings, and the generally untidy-looking interior.

      And so shall I, my boy, said Mr. Gammidge, throwing a double amount of sympathy into his voice. But we’ll return next year, Mr. Carisbroke, if all’s well.

      Next year, said the young man dreamily, next year — um, I shan’t have much time for amusing myself next year.

      What did you say, sir? enquired the circus-proprietor. Oh, nothing — only a trick I have of thinking aloud. Well, how is Mrs. Gammidge this morning? I haven’t seen her about.

      She’s pretty well, sir, thank you. Probably she’s in the box-office a-lookin’ out for some of the nobs what don’t often come to patronize us, said Mr. Gammidge, chuckling. Ah, by-the-bye, said Mr. Carisbroke, that reminds me that I want some stall-tickets for to-night — I’m going to bring some people.

      With pleasure, my boy. I’ll see that the stalls are dusted and made tidy, said Mr. Gammidge, brightening at the mention of tickets. We’ll have a good programme to-night, too. I’m expecting a new addition to the company this afternoon, Mr. Carisbroke.

      Indeed, said Frank; something very good, Gammidge?

      Mr. Gammidge put his hand on the young man’s shoulder — a feat requiring some effort, as Mr. Carisbroke was fully six feet in his stockings, and the circus-proprietor was little more than five-feet-three — and lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. You’re right, my boy, he said. It’s something very good. Indeed. It’s Silas!

      He nodded at Mr. Carisbroke as much to infer that Silas’s merit was quite beyond question. Silas, eh? And who is Silas?

      Mr. Gammidge let his hand fall and put on an injured air. Lor’ bless you, my boy, he said. Surely you’ve ‘eard of Silas! Why ‘e’s the cleverest performer in his line in the world.

      Really, said Frank smiling. I’m afraid I must be terribly ignorant, you know; but really, I never heard of Mr. Silas.

      Mr. repeated the circus-proprietor. Ha, ha, ha! Why, my boy, Silas is a donkey — a performing donkey! And a clever one he is too, I’ve bought him, continued Mr. Gammidge, again sinking his voice to a pitch of confidence, and a fancy price I’ve give for him, too.

      Oh, indeed, responded Mr. Carisbroke. I hope he’ll repay you, Gammidge.

      Well, said Mr. Gammidge, pushing aside his glossy hat and scratching his right ear. I ‘ope ’e will, and I think: ’e will. His mother was an uncommon animal too, but Silas can beat her ‘ollow.

      What line does he take? asked Frank. I don’t know that I ever saw a performing donkey.

      Oh, ’e takes a good many lines, replied Mr. Gammidge. ‘E’s very ‘ighly educated indeed, my boy, I don’t believe there’s another donkey in the world like Silas, I’ve had my eye on ’im for a long time.

      Well, I’ll go round and buy my tickets, said the young man. Good morning, Gammidge.

      Good morning, sir, good morning. You’ll find Mrs. Gammidge in the box-office, anxious and willin’ to serve you, Mr. Carisbroke. I ‘ope your friends will enjoy their evenin’s entertainment, sir.

      Frank nodded, and went round underneath the rough wooden structure towards the front of the circus, where he knew he should find Mrs. Gammidge installed in a small tank-like structure, which she dignified with the name of the box-office. The good lady sat there patiently every day from ten till twelve o’clock, waiting for people to come and book seats in the boxes or grand circle. But she was not often rewarded for her patience. Few people in Ashford cared to book places at Gammidge’s Royal Circus; it was at the shilling and sixpenny doors that Mrs. Gammidge and her lieutenants took most money.

      If the wealthy people of Ashford had followed Frank Carisbroke’s example, Mr and Mrs. Gammidge would have had small reason to complain of coldness. Frank had taken the worthy old couple under his patronage as soon as they came to the town, and they owed a good deal to him. But there were few people who had either so much time or money at command as Frank Carisbroke.  He was quite alone in the world, and since attaining his majority he had amused himself just as he pleased. His father, old William Carisbroke, a retired cornfactor, had left the lad a large fortune, and he had put it entirely at Frank’s control. He had neither brother nor sister, and the only relations he could boast of were two or three far-removed cousins on his mother’s side.  As Mrs. Carisbroke had died when her son was seventeen, Frank had seen little of these people since, and so, for all practical purposes, he was relationless. Of course he had plenty of friends, as all young men with large means have. Whether such friends will always stand a severe test of their friendship is another question. At any rate Frank Carisbroke, at twenty-three, had found his lot in life a very pleasant one. He had comfortable bachelor chambers in the High street, three or four hunters in the Crown stables, a nice income of five thousand a year, nothing to do but obey his own will, and he was engaged to be married to Maude Seymour, the handsomest girl in Ashford. Most men, under these circumstances, would have found it hard not to be comfortable, and Frank Carisbroke being of a conventional type, and having no great possibilities in him either one way or another, enjoyed his lot, and was thankful that fortune had been so kind to him.

      He had always some new hobby for killing time.

      His last craze had been to put himself under the guidance of Signor Murfioni, the acrobat. From that talented gentleman Frank had learnt a great many mysterious feats of strength and agility, and if he had gained no other benefit, his health had certainly profited by the exercise.  Altogether his acquaintance with Signor Murfioni had been a pleasant one. The Signor had introduced him to Mr and Mrs. Gammidge, and to Miss Tottie Gammidge, besides which he had made friends with several other distinguished members of the Royal Circus company. And as Frank was an easy-going, unaffected fellow, with no false pride in him — the little he had had having been knocked out of him at Rugby — he made the acquaintance of all these good people with a great deal of pleasure to himself, and certainly to them.

      He walked round through the gloomy passages of the circus to the grand entrance, and put his head in at the window of the pay-box.

      Hallo, Miss Tottie, he said. I thought Mrs. Gammidge was here.

      "Ma’ is gone out to market, Mr. Carisbroke, said Miss Tottie, who had hurried from her practisin’ to do the honour of the box-office, her father having intimated to her that Mr. Carisbroke had gone round to purchase some tickets. What a pity I did not know a little sooner, said Frank. Then I could have carried the basket for Mrs. Gammidge."

      Miss Tottie laughed.  She was a pretty girl, with brown hair and eyes, and though her nose was something of a snub, it somehow added to the charm of her face. She gave you the impression of always being cheerful, and never put out of the way by any possible stroke of ill-fortune. Then, too, she was entirely unaffected and quite unabashed by anything, though she could be properly respectful to anybody demanding special consideration. She murdered the Queen’s English heartlessly, and always had a kind word and perhaps a penny for a starving beggar — and when I have said that I have given a fair idea of Tottie Gammidge.

      I daresay you would, she answered to Frank’s remark about Mrs. Gammidge and her basket. You do such a lot of out-of-the-way things, Mr. Carisbroke.

      Do I? What, for instance?

      Oh, I don’t know. Learning all that from Murfioni, as he calls himself. You’ll get hurt some day, Mr. Carisbroke.

      I hope not, Miss Tottie.

      I bet you will. You’re too daring. You swells never know what fear is. Why, you nearly gave ma a fit the other day when you would try that high drop from Murfi’s trapeze. I burnt a whole goose’s wing to put under her nose, or she would have gone off.

      Dear me! said Frank with a look of much concern. I must be careful when Mrs. Gammidge is about. What a terrible thing it would have been if you had not had a goose’s wing at hand just then! Miss Tottie smiled, and disclosed a very fine set of white teeth — not that she smiled with that object, but because she couldn’t help it. Now, you’re making fun, she said, and I’ve no time for that. What do you want, Mr. Carisbroke?

      Four stall-tickets; no, five, said Frank. Perhaps I’d better have six. Give me seven, Miss Tottie, and that will be a guinea.

      Thank you, Mr. Carisbroke, said Miss Tottie, handing out seven tickets, and receiving the sovereign and shilling, which Frank handed through the window. "I will see that the stalls are ready. Are you really going to bring seven people? Because you know last time you bought a dozen tickets, and then there was only yourself to fill the twelve seats."

      CHAPTER II.

      THE SEYMOURS.

      GAMMIDGE’S WAS ALWAYS in a state of excitement for half-an-hour previous to the commencement of the performance. The rough dressing rooms were occupied by stable-boys and general utility men, getting themselves into the bright blue dress suits in which all Mr. Gammidge’s underlings made their appearance in the ring. Clowns were daubing their faces with white and red pigments; Signor Murfioni, the celebrated Italian juggler and acrobat (from Cork or Limerick) was preparing his balancing bottles and spinning dinner plates; Mademoiselle Arieta, the flying lady, was clothing herself for her aerial flight, and Miss Tottie Gammidge was fastening the buttons of her riding habit, preparatory to introducing her thoroughbred horse Wellington to the company. Tottie was passionately fond of her horse, the one first-class piece of horseflesh which the company boasted. She looked to Wellington’s comfort herself, and visited his stable half-a-dozen times a day with lumps of sugar.

      She looked very pretty and very lady-like in her glossy hat and neat riding-habit, this young lady who murdered the Queen’s English.  If she had been translated to Rotten Row, she would have attracted more attention than most of the fashionable demoiselles who frequent the Lady’s Mile. There was nothing of the objectionable about her. Her brown hair with its tinge of reddish gold was done up in a heavy coil at the back of her head, her hands were neatly gloved, her feet were encased in well-fitting boots. As she stood holding up her skirts and patting her horse’s neck she made a pretty picture, which appealed very strongly to Mr. Thomas Gammidge’s paternal heart. You look very nice, Tottie, said Mr. Gammidge, who was arrayed in blue, with a white waistcoat, and gold lace down the seams of his inexpressibles. Very nice, my dear.

      Do I, pa! well, I’m glad I do. I like to look nice.

      You ought to have a flower in your bosom or in your belt, continued the little man, critically. It ‘ud set you orf a little.

      Ah! said Miss Tottie, flowers cost too much, pa.

      Yes, said Mr. Gammidge, flowers is expensive, so they are. In my young days a lady-rider would have had plenty of bokays, though.

      Tottie laughed. Nobody, or hardly anybody ever sent her any flowers.

      There’s a very nice house in front, said Tottie’s father. A very nice house indeed. Your ma’s took over eleven pound, Tottie; and they’re a-coming in yet.

      That’s good news, pa, said Miss Gammidge.

      We haven’t had such a house this week. What’s attractin’ ’em, I wonder.

      It’s Silas, said Mr. Gammidge, who had been superintending the arrival of the distinguished animal during the afternoon. Lor’ bless yer, there was a reglar crowd o’ boys to see ’im come in at the station.

      I hope he’ll suit ’em, said Miss Tottie, who did not think much of performing donkeys.

      ‘Is mother, said Mr. Gammidge, taking off his hat and wiping his forehead with a blue silk handkerchief, "’is mother, my dear, was a hout-and houter!

      I expect her son to be the same. He behaved like a Christian when he arrived, and shook hands with me and Murfioni like a brother."

      Tottie smiled and went forward to peep through the curtain at the ‘house.’ It wanted five minutes yet to the commencement, and the band in their box overhead were deafening everybody’s ears by way of preparation. The sixpenny gallery was full, and the shilling seats had a fair sprinkling of people. An old gentleman and half-a-dozen schoolboys were in the two-shilling boxes, but the stalls were empty. Frank Carisbroke and his promised party had not arrived. Miss Gammidge was somewhat curious to see Mr. Carisbroke’s future wife, and she expected that that young lady would form one of the party. Frank had shown himself in such kindly colours to Gammidge and his company, that Tottie had begun to take more interest in him than she took in most young men. She knew he was engaged to Miss Maude Seymour, the only daughter of Mr. Seymour, the solicitor, who was the most pompous, and, in his own opinion, the most considerable person in Ashford. She had never seen Miss Seymour, though the latter was constantly on exhibition, as she drove through the streets of the town in her father’s carriage. But, according to Signor Murfioni, who was acquainted by sight at least with all the beauties of the place, Miss Seymour was something quite out of the common.

      While Tottie peeped through the opening of the curtain, she saw the attendant on the stalls appear at the head of the stairs leading from the vestibule. The damsel was apparently in a state of much excitement, probably because it was a long time since she had the honour of conducting so distinguished a bevy of personages to the best seats in Gammidge’s Royal Circus. She went forward to the seven ticketed stalls and removed the tickets, and supplied every seat with a programme, beautifully printed on pale blue paper, and bearing a delightful representation of Mr. Gammidge in the character of Dick Turpin. A similar programme was supplied to all other parts of the house, but it was printed on yellow paper. The stallholders had their programme on blue of delicate tint, probably in some mysterious relation to their blue blood. It is only the blue-blooded people, of course, who patronize stalls and boxes. If any person of humbler rank should do so, he is treated as a cerulean for the time being.

      Miss Tottie was all eyes as Mr. Carisbroke appeared at the head of the stairs, leading a stout, well-conditioned lady of middle age, who glanced with a very superior air at the circus and its somewhat noisy throng of spectators. She evidently regarded herself as a martyr to some good cause, and took her seat with resignation. Frank removed her cloak, handed her a programme, and made some remark to her which she answered with a faint stare of astonishment and supercilious wonder. Tottie Gammidge felt somehow that she did not like Mrs. Seymour.

      But Miss Seymour and her father had meanwhile entered the stalls. The solicitor was a stout consequential little man, with gold spectacles, and an air of magisterial pride, which sat well upon his fat face and ample stomach. He handed his daughter to her seat and took the empty place next his wife with as much dignity as though he were Lord Chancellor. Then he looked round and gazed with a look of mingled severity and condescension on the audience, as much as to say, "My good friends, you know me. I am come here at the request of my young friend, Mr. Francis Carisbroke, to support a worthy object and to give it my distinguished patronage — and for no other reason whatever. Be pleased in my presence to observe a respectful demeanour."

      Tottie Gammidge, however, did not spend much time in looking at Mr or Mrs. Seymour. Her eyes were fixed on the girl sitting by Frank Carisbroke’s side. Tottie decided that she was very beautiful, and so indeed she was. Her beauty was of the regal type, and consisted of a fine presence and figure, dark eyes and hair, a calm manner, rarely lit up by interest or emotion of any kind. Ashford people, especially the women kind, said that if Maude Seymour had any feelings she was very clever at concealing them. As she sat in Mr. Gammidge’s best stalls and looked round at the rather shabby auditorium, her face betokened neither curiosity nor pleasure. She was simply a very beautiful statue which life had coloured and tinted.

      Tottie Gammidge sighed; she did not know why.

      Somehow she pitied Mr. Carisbroke. And then the bell rang and she slipped away to her horse.

      Meanwhile Frank Carisbroke was doing his best to interest the three people he had induced to patronize Gammidge’s Circus. He knew it was almost impossible to move Mr and Mrs. Seymour to any sort of feeling, but he hoped to interest his sweetheart in the little circus proprietor and his surroundings.

      And so this is the place where you spend your mornings? queried Miss Seymour, glancing at the sawdusted ring and the rough wooden benches.

      Some of my mornings, said Frank.

      How very musty the place is! said Miss Maude, applying a little bottle of smelling-salts to her delicate nostrils. Really, Frank, you have some strange tastes!

      It is — er, rather musty, replied Frank. It’s the horses, you know; but then we can put up with a little inconvenience now and then for other people’s sakes, eh, Maude? Don’t suppose old Gammidge ever sold all these stalls before.

      Miss Seymour said nothing. It was not part of her creed to sacrifice self for other people’s sakes, and she regarded the whole thing as a bore. But she and her mother knew the advantage of pleasing Frank Carisbroke, and so the young lady endeavoured to look as pleasant as possible. And then the entertainment began — an entertainment of the usual fashion. There were clowns who made the little boys in the gallery to go into something very like convulsions, and horsemen who executed terrible feats of daring, and a lady who drove four horses all at one time while standing on the bare back of a fifth. And there was Signor Murfioni who stuck a sword down his throat and played ball with three burning torches and did many wonderful things which made everybody but the stall-people gaze with astonishment. And then there was Mademoiselle Arietta who walked upon a very slack tight rope which was quite eight feet from the floor, and brandished the Union Jack so gracefully that the shop boys and young men generally were overcome with emotion. There too was Mr. Gammidge himself, attired as the terrible Dick Turpin, in great jack-boots and heavy spurs, and mounted on a fiery steed, which represented the famous Black Bess. And last, but certainly not least, there was Miss Tottie Gammidge, who introduced the one valuable horse of the place, and did so with an amount of ladylike self-possession, which was increased because she knew that Miss Seymour’s eyes were fixed upon her.

      When Tottie rode forth, looking a very picture in her dark habit, Maude Seymour turned to her lover with a quick movement, which showed that for once she was off her guard. The thought, which a quick observer would have read in her eyes, was so this is the magnet that draws you to this place every day! But Frank, being a gentleman, was not suspicious, and he saw nothing. He was applauding Tottie vigorously, and he did not notice that Mrs and Miss Seymour exchanged significant glances.

      How it all happened no one ever rightly knew; but suddenly Tottie’s horse stumbled and fell, and Tottie herself was in the ring, her foot still fast in the stirrup, and Wellington making convulsive efforts to get up, much to his mistress’s danger. With something like a shout, Frank Carisbroke leaped over the seats before him, and in a second had seized Tottie in his arms and drawn her out of danger. It was all over in less time than it takes to write these words, and the audience burst into cheers. But when Tottie had bravely mounted her horse again and had ridden away, Mrs. Seymour and her daughter rose simultaneously and intimated very coldly that they desired to go home.

      CHAPTER III.

      OVERHEARD.

      I’M AWFULLY AFRAID you haven’t spent your evening very profitably, said Frank, as Mr. Seymour’s carriage bore the four of them homeward. His future mother-in-law’s displeasure was patent even to him, who was naturally very unobservant. A public man, began Mr. Seymour, in his most judicial manner, has his duties, Carisbroke. They are multiform and many. One is to — to take an interest in the various forms of amusement which exist in his own sphere of life. He must visit them to examine into their fitness and aptitude, and to give his patronage to them. The society of a small town naturally takes its cue from those who — ahem, are in a position to form tastes and opinions.

      Then, said Frank, who understood very little of Mr. Seymour’s observations. I suppose you liked old Gammidge’s show? He’s a deserving old fellow, and a little patronage will be very welcome to him.

      I approve of the entertainment, said the lawyer, as though pronouncing sentence from the bench; "I do not say that there are not features of it which might judiciously be omitted. However, I have patronized the worthy individual — Stammidge is his name? and I trust it may do him good. Perhaps we stayed rather too long, concluded Mr. Seymour, remembering that his wife had left abruptly at last. A great deal too long," said Mrs. Seymour in her coldest tones.

      I am awfully sorry, said Frank. However, we have done a good action, so we can congratulate ourselves that our trouble hasn’t been for nothing.

      A good action? said Maude, enquiringly. Oh! please, though, don’t include us in the share of self-congratulation. We would rather you did not share it with anybody.

      What do you mean? said Frank wonderingly, and vainly trying to think what had made his sweet-heart so icy in her demeanour.

      Maude naturally refers to the dramatic incident which occurred just before our leaving the place, said Mrs. Seymour.

      Oh, said Frank, blankly. It might have been very serious, he continued, after a brief silence, It was a good thing I was there.’

      Mrs. Seymour was silent. It did not matter to her whether Tottie Gammidge had been in danger or no.

      Do those sort of scenes often happen? asked Maude. Do what she would she could not help having a peck at her lover because he had shown himself alive to the danger of another woman. I don’t exactly understand, Frank replied. I never saw anything of that sort before, I should say such an accident is very uncommon. Otherwise we should hear of a lot of deaths and injuries. If I had not pulled Miss Gammidge out of danger, the horse would have rolled on her and crushed her body.

      I thought perhaps it was a well-rehearsed incident, continued Miss Maude, in her iciest tones. That class of people do get up some very dramatic scenes, you know.

      Mrs. Seymour pinched her daughter’s elbow. Maude’s satirical powers had done her a lot of harm in other days, and the lawyer’s wife knew that they might do harm now. She had planned and plotted and schemed a good deal to bring Frank Carisbroke to Maude’s feet, because he was the best ‘catch’ in the neighbourhood. She was not going to see her work spoiled by Maude herself.

      Of course that is only Maude’s fun, she said very sweetly. It was really very brave of you, Frank.

      There was no bravery about it, said Frank, who was slowly beginning to see what Maude meant. I only did what any man would have done. But, my dear Maude, you are quite mistaken in supposing anybody to be able to rehearse a scene of that sort, and as to your remark about ‘that class of people,’ well — I don’t like it. I am quite sure there is no difference between one class and another, so far as human passions and feelings are concerned.

      Oh now you are going to talk politics! said Maude. You can attack papa on that subject, Frank. I know you are a dreadful radical, but you mustn’t expect me to agree with all your views on that question.

      She said this so suavely that Frank was mollified, and chatted agreeably till the carriage pulled up at Mr. Seymour’s mansion. He had experienced this sort of thing at Maude’s hands more than once, and had been compelled to own to himself that his future wife was not quite so broad in her sympathies as himself.

      Frank Carisbroke was a gentleman in the very best sense of the word. He could not bear to hurt anybody or anything, and he was absolutely at a loss to understand the spirit which prompted Miss Seymour to say what she did. He was very considerate of people’s feelings himself, and he liked other people to resemble him. His creed was a remarkably short one and not unlike that of the old cobbler:

      "Treat every man as a brother

       Live honest, and pure, and sweet;

      As if you were up in Heaven,

       A-walking the golden street."

      A grand creed, Frank Carisbroke, my boy, but one that is little practised, little believed in here. Men, you will find, care little for their brothers and a great deal for themselves. There are very few who will share their last penny with a tramp, and fewer still who do not care more for what a man has than for what he is. It would be a good thing and a pleasant thing if there were more like you, Frank. A good sturdy young Englishman, not overburdened with brain power, but with enough common-sense to last him through life, and to steer him safely past all the quicksands and sunken reefs of life’s ocean, is refreshing to one’s contemplation. Of the white-handed, delicate-voiced, half-girlish species, even we English have enough and to spare, and the grand and not-to-be-sufficiently-admired type of slow-speaking, rapid action-taking Englishman is almost dying out from our midst. What martyrs are we nineteenth-century folk — martyrs to our own comforts and our own conveniences! We have introduced the railway and the telegraph, and the telephone, and heart disease. Our children can all read and write, and work out fearful problems, for the schoolmaster is everywhere, and we have got compulsory education and softening of the brain. I question if on the whole we gain by our advanced civilization. Where are the sweet and primitive manners of our grandfathers? Where is that time when thought was slow and speech was slow, but the words were golden when they came at last? And where is the simplicity which one gets a glimpse of in Herrick’s poems and in even Boswell’s prosy pages? Do men sir each other now at every sentence, and give to each the honour due to him? Doubtless we have gained, though I for one would sacrifice my five postal deliveries, and my daily papers, and the railway, and the telegraph, and the telephone, and all the other thousand-and-one improvements of this nineteenth century, if only I could go to some quiet spot, and feel that I lived, and had time to watch the skies turn blue, and the daisies growing, and the earth fulfilling its many tasks. For at present no man, or few men, have time to live, because existence is a race, a scramble, a fight. And methinks that in hurry no man can develop that love of God and love of fellow, which seems a necessary outcome of quiet, and ease, and leisure.

      However, this is not going on with my story. The carriage stopped at Mr. Seymour’s hall door, and the footman climbed down from his perch and let down the steps. By this time the lawyer was asleep, and had to be roused from his slumbers.

      Hallo, home already? he said. Ain’t you coming in, Carisbroke?

      Frank had assisted the ladies out of the carriage, and seemed about going away. He looked at Maude, and seeing something like encouragement in her face, he assented.

      I’ll just take a turn in the garden and smoke a cigar first, though, he said, then I’ll come in, sir.

      He was an inveterate smoker, and Mr. Seymour hated tobacco, and would not tolerate it in his house. Consequently, when Frank wished to smoke, he adjourned to the garden, and solaced himself among the shrubs and flowers. It was very pleasant to stroll about in the garden with a beautiful girl like Maude Seymour, undemonstrative as she was. Frank looked at her for a moment on this occasion, as though he expected her to come with him, but she shook her head and passed into the house. He took a cigar-case from his pocket, and began to pace up and down the walks.

      There are very few people who can help thinking. A brain at perfect rest, unless it is asleep or dead, would be something in the way of a curiosity. As Frank strolled about Mr. Seymour’s garden, he began to think that he did not quite like the tone which Maude had taken in speaking of poor old Gammidge and his company. And why, too, had Mrs. Seymour got up to leave in such a confounded hurry? Frank sighed: he had not enjoyed his evening. He had paid over his guinea to Tottie Gammidge with much pleasure, because he knew that a guinea was a good deal to the Gammidges. But there his pleasure had ended.

      He came along one of the paths which led under a lighted window. Above him he heard voices. He was moving on, when Maude’s voice, sharp and clear, reached his ears, and compelled him against his will to stop and listen.

      After making a fool of himself in that way, he deserved it, said Maude.

      But, my dear, it was anything but wise, said Maude’s mamma. You know quite well it was most foolish to show your temper in that way — you, too, who are usually so cool.

      I suppose I am always to be log-like, answered Miss Seymour. But I have my likes and dislikes for all that. I should like to know what there is between Frank Carisbroke and that girl. She seemed to rest in his arms familiarly enough.

      Frank said something under his breath at this, and then set his teeth together.

      At any rate, said Mrs. Seymour, do try and conceal your hand till you are married, Maude. Of course after that—

      After that, said Miss Maude, with a faint laugh, I shall rule. You need not be afraid that I shall let Frank slip, mamma. Of course one must marry well, otherwise I must say Frank bores me terribly. I had much rather have married Captain Archdale.

      Captain Archdale is so poor, replied Mrs. Seymour. And you know, Maude, it is absolutely necessary you should marry a rich man. But come, let us go down.

      The two ladies descended slowly to the drawing room. Mr. Seymour was already asleep in an easy-chair, and Frank was not yet visible.

      If you please, marm, said John Footman, entering, Mr. Carisbroke asked me to say that he had a very bad headache, and would go home. He would make his excuses to-morrow, marm.

      CHAPTER IV.

      MISS TOTTIE IN A NEW CHARACTER.

      FRANK CARISBROKE WENT out of the garden after he had given his message to the footman, and walked slowly down the road leading to Ashford. Mr. Seymour’s house was a little way out of the town, and the road along which Frank proceeded was quiet. He was glad of it; he wanted to think.  Thinking however is difficult, when a hundred thoughts flash through your brain all at once. Frank’s brain was in a regular whirl. He had heard the girl that he loved, and to whom he was engaged to be married, say that he bored her, that she would rather have married another man — and that man a regular fool in Frank Carisbroke’s opinion, — and that she must marry money. He said it all over to himself again, and then pinched his arm to see if he were not dreaming. I am wide enough awake, he said with a bitter laugh. "And I heard her say it — I heard her say it."

      He went more swiftly along the dark road, his hands plunged in his trousers pockets, his head bent over his breast.

      If anybody else had told me that she could say such things, he said suddenly. I would have said it was a lie! But I heard her say it myself.

      By the time he reached the outskirts of the town, he had grown a little calmer. He took his hands out of his pockets and buttoned his light overcoat over his chest, after which he found another cigar and began to smoke again. There was nothing like tobacco, he said to himself, for soothing a man when his feelings had been outraged. What fools women are, he thought, to talk by an open window! But then if they had not been foolish in this particular case, he would not have had his eyes and his ears opened. Without doubt, he concluded, it was a good thing that he had had them opened.

      I can never marry her now, he said. Marry a woman in whom I had no confidence, who, probably, nay, certainly, only cares for my money, and who is bored by me! No, a thousand times no! Maude Seymour shall never be my wife!

      I wonder now, he resumed after a time, if they will suspect that I heard them? It would perhaps have been better if I had gone in. But to sit there and look at Maude, and remember all she had said — I couldn’t have managed that! Somehow I don’t care if I never go there again.

      He had been very fond and very proud of his sweetheart in bygone days. She was far and away the most beautiful woman about Ashford, and Frank, in his simplicity, had felt honoured and flattered by her preference for him. She had plenty of suitors, and when she accepted Frank, it never occurred to the latter that he was the most eligible of the lot. But the mammas and old maids — and young ones, too — put their heads together, and said that young Carisbroke had been distinctly ‘caught.’ If it had not been for his five thousand a year, they said, he would have stood a poor chance with Maude Seymour.  But Frank himself had no thoughts of this sort. He admired Maude very much, thought she would make him a good wife, and look well at the head of his table, and he loved her too. In his own singleness of heart he imagined that she loved him, and had accepted him for himself and for no other reason. Now, however, his dream was shattered. He saw well enough, for she herself had said it, that Maude cared little for him and a good deal for his money. And as he had no desire whatever to buy his wife, he said to himself that it was all up — he would not marry Miss Seymour. The engagement must be broken off — if need were he would not scruple to tell the young lady what he had chanced to overhear.

      They say that listeners seldom hear good of themselves, he said grimly, as he turned into the High Street. "And the proverb seems to be true in my case.’’

      He went along the almost-deserted street to his chambers, which were situated near the Town-Hall, at the extreme end of the thoroughfare. It was a little after ten o’clock, and the worthy shopkeepers had extinguished their lights and retired to bed, or to the enjoyment of a little hot supper in the back parlour. Ashford people were early risers, and consequently they went early to rest. A policeman walked slowly along his beat, trying the shop-doors and shutters, and flashing his lantern into all the dark corners. He bade Frank good night, and wondered what brought the young gentleman home so early. For Frank was a noted exception to the early-closing rule of his native town.

      He turned up the steps leading to his chambers, and was preparing to ring the bell for his servant to come down and open the door, when he saw a slight figure turn the corner of the Town-Hall, and come quickly along the quiet pavement. Something in the appearance of the figure seemed familiar to Frank. He let his hand rest on the bell, and waited till the figure came nearer. As it emerged into the light of the nearest gas-lamp, Frank uttered an exclamation, and went down the steps. Why, Miss Tottie, he said, whatever brings you out here at this time of night, when all respectable citizens are asleep?

      Tottie Gammidge had started back when he approached, but at the sound of his voice she came up to him, Is that you, Mr. Carisbroke? she said. "What are you doing here?"

      I am going home, answered Frank.

      And so am I, said Tottie, when I have done my business. So please don’t detain me, Mr. Carisbroke.

      She was dressed in an old-fashioned cloak, which covered her all over from head to toe. The hood was drawn over her head, and Frank thought she looked pretty as she peeped at him from its depths. Do you feel all right? he asked. Not hurt at all, eh?

      Oh, no, she said. There, I had forgotten to thank you. It was very kind of you. I can’t think what possessed Wellington to fall. He never did such a thing before. I might have been hurt, though, if you hadn’t been quick, Mr. Carisbroke.

      Oh, there would have been somebody else to help, said Frank.

      The ‘somebody else’ was very slow in turning up then, she answered. Good night, Mr. Carisbroke, and thank you again.

      Where are you going, Miss Tottie? he asked. I — I don’t think that it is quite safe for a young lady to be out in Ashford at this time.

      Safe! in a little quiet town like this! Nonsense, Mr. Carisbroke. Why there is no one in Ashford capable of making it anything but safe!

      I’m not so sure of that, said Frank. There are some queer characters down by the church there.

      That’s just where I’m going, said Miss Tottie. And I have been there before.

      Let me go with you, then, said Frank. And then I will take you safe home.

      Miss Tottie hesitated. She had no fear, and she didn’t quite know whether it was according to the proprieties that a young gentleman, should escort her through the streets of Ashford.

      Well, she said rather undecidedly, if you like; but you will have your walk for nothing. I am going to see one of our people who is ill.

      Indeed, said Frank. Which of them is it? I didn’t know anything about it.

      It’s Smith — one of the clowns, she answered, as they walked on.

      Ah, I remember now, said Frank. I missed him to-night. What is the matter with him, Miss Tottie?

      Poverty, I think, she said, with a dreary little laugh. He has a wife and two or three young children, and you know, Mr. Carisbroke, pa’ can’t afford to give him very much in the way of wages. Now that he is ill we do what we can for him — but he is very poor.

      Poor fellow! said Frank. So he laughs before the public and groans in private? I’ve no doubt that’s the case with a lot of your people, Miss Tottie, eh?

      It is, indeed. The folks, especially the young ones, think what a grand thing it is to be a clown, always funny, always making jokes, but they don’t know. I wish some of them could see poor Smith with his paint off.

      They walked quickly along in the direction of the sick clown’s lodgings. The district which they had entered was the poorest in Ashford. The streets were narrow and squalid, and evil smelling. The population were chiefly colliers, who worked in the great coal mine a mile outside the town. As Tottie Gammidge and her escort passed along, groups of men and boys were trooping forth to the night-shift at the colliery. The clatter of their heavy boots, the clinking of their tin cans and lamps, and the loud tones in which they talked to each other, made the neighbourhood anything but a quiet one.

      Not very nice for a sick man, said Frank, referring to the noise. I wonder Smith should take up his abode down here!

      Beggars mustn’t be choosers, said Miss Tottie, oracularly. He came here because it was cheap, I expect.

      I suppose so, said Frank. He knew very little about the struggles of poor folks, but he dimly-recognised that there were people about him who were not so well off in this world’s goods as himself.

      It is down here, said Tottie, turning into a badly-lighted side street, which ran alongside the old church. I confess I don’t like going down here by myself. There are always a lot of fellows coming out of that wretched little public-house there.

      It’s not fit for you to come down here alone, said Frank. These collier-fellows are not very particular.

      A group of men were just then emerging from the door of the inn which Tottie indicated. They came up the street shouting and singing, and evidently the worse for drink.

      Let them go by, said Frank, fearing lest some of them should exhibit their boorishness. Let them have the pavement to themselves. Now then, my friend, where are you coming to?

      One of the men, evidently very drunk, reeled in front of Tottie Gammidge, and stretched out his long arms with a hoarse laugh. It’s th’ little circus-rider, he said stammeringly. Hey, but I’m boun’ to hev a kiss from th’ little wench! Come here, lass, and gie’s a kiss.

      Tottie stepped aside, and the big collier made a dart at her. The next instant something like a small thunderbolt descended on his stone-like forehead, and he found himself measuring his length on the roadside.

      Oh! said Miss Tottie in dismay, don’t hurt him; he’s drunk.

      It will do him good, said Frank, looking at the fallen man, and teach him better manners. Come along.

      He gave her his arm and led her away, while the collier picked himself up and submitted with bad grace to the jeers and taunts of his mates.

      Now, you see I was of some use, said Frank.

      Yes, she said. But I could have run away, you know. There are lots of ways of getting out of a scrape without knocking people down.

      What a nice way of thanking one! said Frank, laughing.

      Oh, I am much obliged, she said. But here we are. Will you come in, or wait outside?

      I should like to go in, said Frank. That is, if you think they won’t mind.

      Oh, they won’t mind, she answered. At any rate, I don’t see why they should.

      She led the way up a dark passage, which terminated in an equally dark staircase. The whole place smelt terribly musty, and there was an odour of fried fish about it which made Frank Carisbroke turn up his nose. Tottie seemed not to notice it; she went on and up the stairs, and knocked gently at a door, from which came a faint streak of light.  A woman opened it a little way, and peeped out.

      It’s me, Mrs. Smith, said Tottie ungrammatically.

      Come in, Miss Gammidge, said Mrs. Smith.

      It’s very good of you to come.

      She was rather a pretty-looking little woman, with an air of anxiety and care about her which had sadly destroyed much of her good looks, and had turned her dark hair grey. She looked questioningly at Frank’s tall figure looming behind Tottie in the semi-darkness. It’s Mr. Carisbroke, said Tottie. He came with me. Let him come in and sit down a minute.

      Come in, sir, said Mrs. Smith. We’re rather untidy, but it is difficult to keep things straight when you’ve sickness in the house.

      Oh, don’t mind me, said Frank. I’m all right. I hope your husband’s better to-night. He came forward into the poorly-lighted room and looked around him. Unlike a great many of his rich brothers and sisters, Frank Carisbroke knew very little of how the poor live. He had never gone in for slumming, perhaps because the fashion of it had not set in at Ashford, perhaps because he had very little idea of the amount of poverty which existed even in his own little town.

      As he glanced at the poor apartment in which Mr. Gammidge’s principal clown and his family resided, Frank was conscious of a new impression. He saw the sick man sitting by the fire-side looking very unlike the flounced and painted individual who moved the frequenters of Gammidge’s to ready laughter, he saw two little children sleeping in a sort of turn-up bed in one corner of the room, he saw the poor appearance of the place, the absence of anything like comfort, and he thought to himself that the money he was accustomed to spend on his own pleasures in a month would keep these people in luxury for a year.

      He went forward to the fire-side, and asked the sick clown how he felt. He was surprised to find that Smith, who looked young enough in his war-paint, was in real life a care-worn fellow of middle age.

      I’m not much better, sir, thank you, said the sick man. I don’t know how it is I don’t get on faster. Perhaps it’s with worrying myself about the missis and the kids.

      What about them? asked Frank.

      What would become of ’em if anything happened to me, I mean, said Smith. I wouldn’t like to leave ’em in a place like this. Gammidge is very good, and Miss Tottie there’s a reg’lar angel for helping one that’s down; but you know, sir, between you and me, the business isn’t over good, and the old man couldn’t do much.

      Oh, said Frank, you mustn’t be downhearted. You’ll be all right again, you know, soon.

      I don’t know, said the clown, shaking his head. Sometimes I think I’m booked. Gammidge is very good, and he’s sent me my screw these two weeks I’ve been bad — but, good heavens, sir, if I died, what would become of the wife and little ‘uns?

      Now, Smith, said Miss Tottie, coming forward from the rear of the room, where she had

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