A Writ of Summons

AD the eminent author of "Tangled Lives" foreseen that at the conclusion of his third act there would arrive on the stage, a little blinded by the glare of the lights, more than a little worried for the child of tender years he bore in his arms, no less a personage than the Most Honourable the Marquis of Pelborough, who, having arrived, would blunder into the very thrill of a carefully devised finish, he could not have written words that better fitted the situation when Chick stumbled on to the stage of the Strand-Broadway Theatre, holding the infant Samuel in his arms.

For these were the lines:

The eminent author, it is true, did not suggest that the mother of the child had bolted, or that the infant himself had swallowed a foreign body, as Chick, obtruding a vital fact into the realms of dramatic fiction, stated so definitely. Let the curtain of the Strand-Broadway fall; let the dramatic critics gather together in the bar, puzzled by the "comedy finish" to a tragic scene; let Mr. Solburg, that important manager, stroll to the back of the stage, shaking with internal laughter, and realising that he has a big story to give to the newspaper men the next morning, and let Chick be hurried back to Doughty Street for a feeding-bottle and the wherewithal to fill it. whilst an aged dresser hushes the infant, and then let Chick's diary bridge a gulf.

Saturday 30th.—Became a Marquis.

Monday 1st.—Buried my uncle.

Wednesday 3rd.—Appeared on stage: adopted baby.

Thursday 4th.—Salary raised to £5 a week.

Hitherto Chick's life had run smoothly, if not normally. The work of an insurance clerk with a limited income is governed by a ready-made routine. His uncle's endless petitions to the House of Lords that the ancient Marquisate of Pelborough should be revived in his favour, Chick had regarded so indulgently that his attitude was almost one of indifference. It was the mild contempt of youth for the foibles and fads of the aged. And lo! a miracle had happened. The Lords had endorsed the claim of Dr. Beane, and the old man had been literally shocked to death, leaving an earnest youth to the enjoyment of the title.

On the night of his involuntary appearance in drama Chick could not sleep. He turned the matter over in his mind. He was a marquis, a peer of the realm, a descendant of kings and great warriors. He had an uneasy sense of responsibility without the slightest idea of how that responsibility could be met.

His landlord, the lawyer's clerk, had given him permission to read any of the books which filled half a dozen shelves in the dining-room.

At three o'clock Chick turned on the light and padded softly into the little dining-room in search of knowledge and guidance. Perhaps there was a book about lords. There were, in fact, half a dozen, but they were novels. He skimmed through several of these and discovered that there were two distinct brands. There was one kind which was old and stately and held his head high, and there was another which indulged in betting and behaved abominably to his lady friends. Chick carried the books back and renewed his search.

He found what he wanted in a well-worn encyclopædia, sitting on the edge of his bed. Under "Marquis" he discovered that he ranked nearly as high as a duke.

"Je-hos-o-phat!" said Chick aloud.

"The mantle is scarlet, with three and a half doublings of ermine."

What mantle, he wondered? And what was a "doubling"? He was thrilled to read that "one of the earliest creations of this title was that conferred upon Charles, Earl of Steffield, who was created Marquis of Pelborough by Richard III."

He put the book back on the shelf and went to sleep, and was awakened by a little maid-servant, who brought him a cup of coffee at half-past seven. With daylight came a sense of the problems which he had dismissed the night before.

Gwenda was up, and his breakfast was being laid when he rang the bell, and it was she who admitted him.

"Good morning, Chick! Have you seen the newspapers?" she asked, when he sat down to breakfast.

Chick started guiltily.

"No, I haven't. They haven't said anything about my bringing Samuel to you?" he demanded hoarsely.

"They haven't," said the grim Gwenda, "but they will!"

"How is Samuel?"

She smiled. "He slept like a young angel. Chick, what are we to do with him?"

"I told you last night, Gwenda," said Chick doggedly. "I'm going to adopt him till his mother comes back."

"And what about this flat?" asked Gwenda, with great patience.

"I'll pay all her bills, and we'll keep the flat going." Chick was very definite and business-like this morning, thought the girl. "I have enough money to do that."

But the adoption was to prove a bigger and more complicated business than he had thought. It meant the engagement of a nurse, and the nurse must also act as housekeeper, chaperon, and friend of Gwenda's, or the dream ménage he had planned tumbled to pieces. Gwenda put no obstacles in the way, as well she might, for the position was an awkward one for her. It involved the adoption of Samuel by her, and not by Chick at all.

The gods were very good to Chick that day. The first visit at a servants' registry produced Mrs. Orlando Phibbs. It even produced her in the flesh, for Mrs. Phibbs was on the premises when the girl called. At first sight Gwenda was not impressed. Mrs. Phibbs was big and majestic. She had large and imposing features and a double chin, and she listened to Gwenda's requirements, rather haltingly stated, with a calm detachment which was very chilling.

And then Gwenda had an inspiration. She told the whole story of Maggie and Samuel, and the ultroneous adoption by Chick, and as she progressed, the ponderous dignity of Mrs. Phibbs relaxed and a broad smile humanised her forbidding face.

"My dear," she said briskly, "I think this is my job."

She was the widow of a doctor, and had been a nurse in her youth. Her husband—this she said with the greatest calmness—had drunk himself to death, leaving a number of "debts of honour" which gave her infinite satisfaction to repudiate, four tickets in the Calcutta Sweepstake, and a house so cleverly mortgaged that the doctor would undoubtedly have ended his days in prison had his fraud been discovered in time. She revealed these details on their way back to the flat.

"I'm not a decayed gentlewoman, and don't think of me as one," Mrs. Phibbs warned her. "I'm troubled with a sense of humour and an occasional 'go' of rheumatism."

Samuel, who had been left in the care of his self-appointed guardian, adopted Mrs. Phibbs with acclamation.

And Mrs. Phibbs was truly wonderful. She settled herself in the room of Samuel's fugitive mother, took control of the girl whom Maggie had employed, and ordered Chick to give notice to his landlord and occupy the room which had been originally designed for him.

"Propriety!" said Mrs. Phibbs scornfully. "I've a son in the Army who could eat that boy! What is his name, by the way?"

"The Marquis of Pelborough," said Gwenda.

Mrs. Phibbs stopped her work.

"The Marquis of—oh, yes! I read something about it in the papers. He is the boy who inherited the title from an uncle. Phew!"

Mrs. Phibbs whistled shrilly but musically.

"An interesting household, Mrs. Maynard. Your husband doesn't live here?"

Gwenda shook her head. "I think it would be best if I told you about my marriage," she said, and evidently the explanation she gave for her husband's absence was wholly satisfactory.

"Chick—Lord Pelborough—doesn't know, and I don't want him to know," she said. "I've never told anybody but you, and it is strange that I should take you into my confidence."

Chick was exactly an hour and a half late in reaching his office. He had telephoned Mr. Leither, and that obliging man had told him to take the day; but Chick was beginning to feel conscience-stricken, and had resolved that this irregularity of conduct must cease forthwith. He went so far as to seek an interview with his employer and to suggest that his lost time should be deducted from his wages, but Mr. Leither pooh-poohed the suggestion.

"You take these things too seriously, my dear Pelborough," he said genially. "By the way, I have raised your salary to five pounds a week. It is wholly inadequate"—he shrugged his shoulders—"and I must lighten the work for you, Pelborough, I really must. After to-day your desk will be in my room. I can't have you out there with the clerks—that will never do."

Chick heard of this new arrangement with dismay, and endeavoured to discover what his duties would be. Apparently they began and ended by. his looking as ornamental and important as possible, and interviewing possible clients.

"There's one. thing I'd like to speak to you about," said Mr. Leither, in some discomfort of mind. "What about clothes?"

"Clothes?"said the puzzled Chick.

"I have the best tailor in the world," said Mr. Leither extravagantly.

Chick thought that he was not a good advertisement for that excellent tradesman, but said nothing,

"Suppose you go along and order half a dozen suits. A dress-suit—have you got a dress-suit, Pelborough?"

"No, I haven't," admitted Chick.

"You ought to have." Mr. Leither shook his head. "What about shirts and boots and things? My dear Pelborough, you really must dress up to your station. Now, look at me."

Chick looked at him, and thought he had never seen a man upon whom the ingenuity of tailor and cutter were so patently wasted.

"Suppose I came here dressed like a ragamuffin—not that you are a ragamuffin, my dear Pelborough; that is a little figure of speech—what chance should I have of inspiring confidence in 'lives'?"

It was a new thought for Chick, and he carried his trouble to Gwenda, for now he went home to lunch.

"I think he's right," said the girl. "But, Chick dear, you must buy your own clothes. You cannot be under an obligation to Mr. Leither."

"Of course I'll buy my own clothes," said Chick in surprise. "He wasn't suggesting that he should pay for them."

"I rather think he was," smiled the girl.

The question of clothes was to come into greater prominence than Chick or the girl supposed or imagined.

The following morning a letter reached him, readdressed from Brockley—a large white envelope and bulky. It was addressed to "The Most Honourable the Marquis of Pelborough, etc." What those et-ceteras meant were revealed in the contents of the communication.

"To Our Eight Trusty and Well-Beloved Charles, Marquis of Pelborough, Earl of Steffield, Viscount Morland, Baron Pelborough in the County of Westshire, Baron Slieve, Master of Kollochbach, et-cetera.

"Greeting. WHEREAS Our Parliament for arduous and urgent affairs concerning Us the State and defence of Our said United Kingdom and the Church is now met at Our City of Westminster. We strictly enjoining command you upon the faith and allegiance by which you are bound to Us that considering the difficulty of the said affairs and dangers impending (waiving all excuses) you be personally present at our aforesaid Parliament with Us and with the Prelates Nobles and Peers of Our said Kingdom to treat and give your counsel upon the affairs aforesaid. And this as you regard Us and Our honour and the safety and defence of the said United Kingdom and Church and dispatch of the said affairs in nowise do you omit. Witness Ourself at Westminster … etc. … etc …"

"What does that mean?" he gasped.

They were at breakfast, the three, and Samuel, in a bright scarlet dressing-gown, was sitting in a baby-chair in the background, chewing a spoon.

"I don't know any of these people."

"Which people!" asked Gwenda.

"This Earl of Steffield, and Viscount Morland, and Baron What's-his-name"

But Gwenda was helpless with laughter.

"Chick, you silly dear, you're all those people," she said. "They're your secondary titles."

"Gosh!" said Chick. "Am I really?"

"Of course you are. When you grow up and you have children, you will give the second title to your son. He will be Earl of Steffield."

"But does this mean I've got to go to the House of Lords?"

Gwenda nodded.

"I was wondering how long it would be before you were summoned. Yes, Chick, you are now one of our hereditary legislators."

"H'm!" said Chick. "I'll drop in this afternoon and get it over."

She was still laughing.

"Oh, Chick, you can't drop in at the House of Lords and get things over," she said, dropping her hand on his shoulder and shaking him gently. "The thing is to be done with ceremony. You had better write and say that you will take your seat next Monday, and I'll find out what you have to do."

"But couldn't I just call in and say 'How do you do?' and come away?" said the worried Chick. "I don't want to waste any time. I've been rather unfair to Mr. Leither, and we've got a man coming on Monday afternoon who is pretty certain to take out a big policy, and Mr. Leither will want me to tell him all about the schedules."

She explained that the introduction of a new Lord in Parliament was something of a ceremonial, and that night, when he met her at the stage-door to bring her home, she gave him particulars which terrified him.

"I've been talking to Mr. Solburg," she said, "and really Solburg is much nicer than I thought he was. He hasn't said anything to the Press, Chick, about your appearance in the third act of 'Tangled Lives.' He said the play is going so well that it doesn't want any extra advertisement. You'll have to get an hour off to-morrow and lunch with Mr. Solburg."

The lunch was at a club in Mayfair of which Mr. Solburg was a member, and the beauty of the room, the smartness of the lunchers, and the general air of luxury which prevailed, struck Chick dumb.

"No, I shouldn't advise you to be a member here, my lord," said the frank Mr. Solburg. "You're pretty safe so long as you have no money, but there are men and women in this room who would find a way of pawning your title."

He pointed out- one or two notorieties. Very respectable persons they seemed, thought Chick, and was amazed to discover that they lived on the border-line of rascality.

"That fellow over there works the American liners," said Mr. Solburg. "He's the son of a lord, and an 'honourable,' but he's the decoy duck that brings the other birds to the slaughter."

"But why are you a member of this dreadful club?" asked Chick, astonished.

"They don't bother me," said the comfortable Solburg.

"They would bother me," said Chick, "and this is the place I should certainly avoid if I had money which, thank Heaven, I haven't."

"I think you're wise," said Mr. Solburg.

After lunch he drove him in his big car to make a call on Stainers, the famous theatrical costumiers.

"We can do the robe," said Mr. Stainer, who was of Mr. Solburg's nationality. "Real ermine, Mr. Solburg. It was used by "—he mentioned the name of a great actor manager—"but the coronet we have to hire from Pillings of Bury Street, and they'll want a deposit.

"Make me responsible," said Solburg, "but get a good coronet, and see that it fits his lordship."

With due solemnity Mr. Stainer measured the size of Chick's head, and that night robe and coronet were delivered at Doughty Street, and Chick tried them on before an admiring audience.

The coronet had been made for a larger head than Chick's, but Gwenda, with folded paper and a few quick stitches, managed to make it fit. Chick surveyed himself sombrely in the glass. His scarlet mantle trailed on the ground, his big ermine cape smothered him, but the sight of the coronet on his head, with its pearls and its strawberry leaves, hypnotised him.

"Gosh!" he said at last.

It was a word which adequately expressed his emotions.

"I look like a king, Gwenda. I shan't be mistaken for anybody like that, shall I?" he asked in alarm.

"Don't be silly, Chick. Of course you won't."

"But am I to walk through the streets all dressed up?" asked Chick in horror. "Of course I could go by 'bus or take a taxi, but they would laugh at me," protested Chick. "Couldn't I go in, and carry this thing in my hand and my robes over my arm, just to show 'em that I'd got 'em?"

"You dress at the House of Lords," smiled the girl. "Chick, you're being crazy."

Gwenda took complete charge of the arrangements. That afternoon she went to the House of Lords, and after passing the scrutiny of numerous officials, having interviewed the Yeoman Usher, and the Secretary to the Great Chamberlain, and the Usher of the Black Rod, and the Sergeant-at-Arms, and the Gold Stick in Waiting, and divers other high but very courteous officials, she secured the interview she wanted, and came back to Chick, flushed with excitement.

"Chick, you're to be introduced to the House by two Lords," she said, "and you can 'robe'—that is what they call it—in a special room, and you have to walk up the floor of the House and take the oath and shake hands with the Lord Chancellor."

"You're pulling my leg, Gwenda," said Chick, going pale.

"And Monday will be such a good day," she went on enthusiastically. "There is to be a big debate on the Child Workers Bill, and everybody will be there to see you."

Chick closed his eyes and breathed heavily.

"And here are the names of the people who will introduce you—such nice men, Chick—Lord Felthinton and the Earl of Mansar. They've read all about you, and they say they'll be delighted to do anything for you."

"Phew!" said Chick, looking helplessly from side to side.

"Rubbish!" said the practical Mrs. Phibbs. "Anybody would think you were going to an execution, Chick." (At his earnest request she had adopted this style of address.)

"Couldn't it be put off for a week?" said the agonised Chick. "We're awfully busy on Mondays."

"You're going on Monday," insisted Gwenda firmly. "Now, Chick, don't let us have any argument about this, and I think you ought to wear a Court suit. I'm going to ask Mr. Solburg about it."

The week passed all too quickly, but as the fatal day came nearer, Chick grew more and more resigned.

On the Sunday night he sat reading with Gwenda and the watchful Mrs. Phibbs. Samuel had retired for the night, and the long silence was broken only by the rustling of Chick's newspaper and the click of Mrs. Phibbs 's knitting-needles.

There was something in Gwenda's pose that was unexpectedly comforting to Chick. He watched her for some time over the top of his newspaper. He thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and certainly Gwenda Maynard was pretty. Her face had a delicacy of moulding which he had never seen in other women's faces. Her eyes were big and shadowy, and held a mystery which to the boy was insoluble. "Gwenda," he said, "I've been thinking."

She raised her head from her book.

"I've been thinking about the importance of everybody except me," he said.

She put down her book.

"It is rather good at times to be impressed by a sense of one's own nothingness," she said, "but not for you. Chick. You are going to be a big factor in life."

He shook his head.

"I was reading the political news," he said. "I've never read it before, and never realised the power of the Government. Why, Gwenda, it can do anything! It could shut up your theatre or—or"

"What makes you think all this, Chick?" asked the girl.

"I don't know, only it seems so ridiculous that a fellow like me should have the nerve to go into Parliament, and that's what it amounts to."

She laughed, stretching out her hand to his and gripping it in her cool palm.

"You'll be a big man yet, dear," she said. "You'll make and break Governments like that!" She snapped her disengaged fingers.

"Goodness!" said Chick fearfully. "I hope not!"

Chick faced the day of days a little wanly. He would not have had any breakfast, but Gwenda insisted, and he absolutely refused any lunch—he said it would choke him.

The coronet and robes were packed in a suit-case, and Chick insisted upon travelling to the House of Lords by 'bus. He said it was less conspicuous. The girl had received from one of his lordly sponsors a ticket admitting her to the gallery, to watch the ceremony, and she went with him.

He was reminded of a great cathedral he had once visited. He could not remember where or in what circumstances, but the place had left just such an impression as was now revived. He felt it would not be decent to talk above a whisper in these high vaulted corridors, broad and spacious. The stone walls were decorated with pictures of historical events, at every half a dozen paces was a marble pedestal surmounted by the bust of a dead-and-gone Parliamentarian, and now and again a life-sized statue of some statesman who had made or mangled history. It was as though he moved through a large and splendid tomb.

The feet of hurrying men sounded hollowly as they crossed or recrossed the marble floor of the big lobby. The sing-song voice of an attendant wailed unintelligible names; there was a loud whisper of sound, for here the members of the Commons interviewed their constituents.

The entrance to the House of Lords opened from this lobby, and lay at the end of a broad vestibule, the walls of which were also covered by historical paintings.

Chick's heart was in his mouth as he approached the first of many policemen there seemed hundreds of these courteous men.

"Lord Pelborough? Yes, my lord, I will show your lordship the way."

Chick clung on to the battered suit-case in which the borrowed vestments of his nobility were packed, and Gwenda and he followed the officer until they came to another policeman, who took them in charge and finally piloted them to where the sponsors were waiting.

Chick regarded them with awe and reverence. One was tall and bent, a man of forty-five, with a keen, intellectual face. He wore an eye-glass and was fashionably attired. Chick regretted bitterly that he had not followed Mr. Leither's advice and arrayed himself in something more striking than a blue serge suit. The second was young, plump and rosy, and had a tiny moustache.

"This is the Marquis of Pelborough," said Gwenda.

The elder man held out his hand. "I'm very glad to meet you, Lord Pelborough," he said, with a little smile. "I've read a lot about you."

"Yes, sir—my lord, I mean," said Chick huskily.

"And this is the Earl of Mansar." He introduced the rosy young man, who grinned amiably.

"It's an awful fag coming down here all dolled up, isn't it?" he said. "But, bless you, these old devils are so blind they wouldn't notice you if you came in your pyjamas!"

"Take Lord Pelborough to the robing-room, Mansar. The Lord Chancellor takes his seat at three. You've got about ten minutes."

Chick was led away as one to the scaffold, but under the cheering influence of the volatile Mansar, who discoursed eloquently, and without stopping to take breath, upon the weather, the horrible condition of the roads, and the mistake of adopting a Parliamentary career. Chick began to take an interest.

What followed was like a dream. He was dimly conscious of being draped in his long scarlet robe, and of Lord Mansar and an attendant fixing the coronet.

"Keep it straight, dear old thing," murmured his lordship. "It's inclined to go a bit raffishly over your right eye. That's right!"

Chick was led to the lobby. The girl had disappeared.

Lord Felthinton fixed his eye-glass and reviewed the new peer with approval.

"As a matter of fact, Lord Pelborough," he said, "you should be introduced by two marquises; but there isn't a marquis in the House to-day, and you'll have to be content with the escort of inferiors."

Chick dimly remembered that Gwenda had told him that Lord Felthinton was one of the richest landowners in England, and during the time of waiting he tried very politely to turn the conversation to land, about which he knew nothing more than that it was the substance on which houses were built. His mouth was dry, and when he spoke his utterance was thick and sounded like that of somebody else speaking.

An official came through the swing-doors, an elderly gentleman who wore a chain about his neck and was dressed in knee-breeches and Court coat. He murmured something and Felthinton nodded.

"Come on, Pelborough," said Mansar. "Buck up! Have you got the summons?"

Chick produced it from his trousers pocket with a trembling hand. "Off we go," said Mansar cheerfully.

That walk up the red-carpeted floor was the worst part of the dream. Chick was dimly conscious that to the left and right of him were men who were clothed in the garments of civilisation. He was horribly conscious that he was fantastically attired. He stood before the table, a peer on either side of him, and signed his name with a trembling hand, and repeated that he would "bear true allegiance … heirs and successors …" and then he was led to a bewigged figure sitting on a broad divan, and the figure solemnly rose, took off his three-cornered hat, and shook hands with him.

The next thing that Chick really remembered was being in the robing-room with the Earl of Mansar, and that young man was smiling broadly.

"Dear old thing, you were wonderful!" he said ecstatically, "You were simply amazing."

"I was," said Chick. "I amazed myself to such an extent that I don't know whether I'm alive or dead."

"You're alive all right. Get your nighty off, put the strawberry leaves into the bag. Come along, and we'll listen to this debate."

"But I'm not going back again," said Chick in alarm.

"Yes, you are," said Mansar calmly. "Your young lady has gone into the gallery, and I told her that I was bringing you back to listen to the spouters."

Chick mopped his wet brow.

"I've an awful lot of work to do," he said.

"Come along," said Mansar, grasping him by the arm.

This time their entry into the House was unnoticed. Mansar piloted him to a leather bench to the right of the Lord Chancellor, and Chick, all unwittingly, found himself supporting the Government. He did not know that he was supporting the Government, and it would not have worried him much if he had.

Now he was calmer he had a better opportunity of examining the House. It was a beautiful chamber, he thought, all gilt and crimson. The people who occupied the benches did not seem as if they were made to match. They were, in the main, elderly men, and their attention was concentrated upon a very stout, tall gentleman who stood by the table and expounded the views of the Government upon a Bill which was evidently under discussion.

Presently he sat down, and another rose. Chick noted mentally that, however violently these men might oppose one another's opinions, they invariably referred to each other as "the noble lord." Once or twice the wigged figure on the divan—which he was to learn was called the Woolsack—interposed in the debate, and there was an exchange of heated courtesies. They addressed him of the divan as "My Lord Chancellor."

Once Chick looked up at the gallery and caught Gwenda's eye. Her face was glowing with pride, and he smiled up at her.

Then through a fog of words, through the drone of the prosy and the fire of the eloquent, came an understanding of the subject which was being discussed. It was an amendment to a Bill which raised the age at which children could be employed, and Chick forgot the House of Lords, forgot the girl in the gallery, forgot his own nervousness and embarrassment, and listened intently, nodding to every sentiment which he approved, shaking his head violently when a very pompous gentleman, who sat behind him, insisted that the children of the working classes were better employed in a factory than wasting their time at school in a vain endeavour to assimilate knowledge which could not be of any use to them in after-life.

Then there was a pause. The last speaker sat down, and the Lord Chancellor threw a glance from left to right. It was at that moment that Chick decided that he would go out and wait for Gwenda. He rose, and instantly found himself the focus of all eyes.

"Lord Pelborough" said the Lord Chancellor in sepulchral tones, and Chick turned to him quickly.

"Yes, sir—my lord, I mean," he said.

"—has the floor."

Chick looked at the floor and then at the figure on the divan.

"You've got to make a speech!" hissed Mansar's voice, and Chick blinked.

So it was compulsory for a new member to speak? He did not know that by rising and nodding in his friendly way to the Lord Chancellor he had sought the opportunity.

"As a matter of fact," said Chick, "I was going."

There was a low murmur of "Order! Order!" at this breach of the rules of debate.

"But," Chick went on, rubbing his chin nervously, "I quite agree with the stout gentleman over there." He nodded to the representative of the Government who was in charge of the Bill.

"The noble lord refers to the Under-Secretary of State," said the Lord Chancellor.

"Thank you very much, sir—Lord Chancellor, I mean," said Chick. "I didn't know his name, but I quite agree with most of the things he said. I'm quite sure he must be a gentleman with boys of his own."

"The noble lord will be interested to learn that I am a bachelor," said the smiling Secretary, as he rose.

"You surprise me," said Chick earnestly, "but I can assure you that what you have said is perfectly true."

The House did not laugh, it stared in silence, and Chick, blissfully unconscious of the hundred conventions he broke, of all the rules of debate he outraged, of all the ancient customs which he was treading under foot, went on in his easy conversational tone, his hands in his pockets, his pink face turned to the taciturn Chancellor.

He had never spoken in public, but the vocal paralysis which comes to the amateur orator did not affect him. At first his speech was halting, his sentences inclined to jumble, but presently he forgot that he was in the Supreme Legislature, forgot everything but that these ordinary-looking men were listening and wanted to hear what he had to say. Chick had lived amongst the people and had been a witness of their struggles and heroism. He had fought with weedy, ill-nourished boys who had acquired men's voices and men's vocabulary. And he knew what education meant, and why the public schoolboy spoke another language from the child thrown out on to the world to fend for himself and gain his education at street-corners. He had strong views formed in secret and never before expressed.

"The difference between the illiterate general labourer and the skilled artisan is the two years you snip from his schooling," was one of the phrases he used, and one afterwards employed by the educationalists as their watchword.

Gwenda watched and listened dumbfounded. Here was a Chick she had never suspected, eloquent and convincing.

Suddenly he realised his position and faltered. The tremendous setting of the House overwhelmed him, and he stopped.

"That's all," he said huskily and sat down.

Amidst a murmur which was half approval, half dissent, something happened—a bell rang, and the members rose and moved out of the House. Chick found himself detached from Mansar and moving toward the lobby.

"Yes or no, my lord?" asked an official at the barrier.

"No, thank you," said Chick hastily. "I never drink."

He thought that the refreshments were provided, and followed into the lobby indicated by the attendant's hand. A lot of men came into the room, and they were talking. Two or three, who seemed surprised to see him there, came and spoke to him, but mostly they were concerned as to whether the Government would or would not be defeated on the amendment. Most of them thought it would be a close thing. Presently they all, for no reason at all, trooped out of the lobby and back to the House, and Chick found himself following sheepishly.

He caught sight of Mansar, who took him by the arm.

"This is going to be a close thing, old chap," he said, "and your speech was a corker!"

"Which is close? What is it?" asked the mystified Chick.

"Hush!" said Mansar.

Two men walked to the table, there was an exchange of words, and suddenly a roar of cheering.

Mansar sat open-mouthed.

"The Government is defeated by one vote," he said. And then, a horrible suspicion seizing upon him: "You didn't vote for the age limit to be reduced, did you?"

"No," said the indignant Chick. "I haven't voted at all."

A light dawned upon Lord Mansar.

"Which way did you go? To the 'Aye' lobby or the 'No'?"

"I don't know which," said Chick. "A man asked me 'Yes or No?' and I said 'No.' I thought he was offering me a drink."

"And you went into the 'No' lobby!" said Lord Mansar heatedly. "You spouted in favour of the Government measure, and you voted for the infernal amendment! Confound it, Pelborough, your vote defeated the Government!"