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326 326 A DOUBLE-BARRELLED GHOST.

"Eh? What?" I gasped.

"A literary career," he repeated. "What makes you so astonished ? "

" Well, for one thing it's exactly what Tom Addlestone, the leader-writer of the Hurrygraph, was recommending to me this morning. He said : ' John, my boy, if I had had your advantages ten years ago, I should have been spared many a headache and supplied with many a dinner. It may turn out a lucky thing yet that you gravitated so to literary society, and that so many press men had free passes to your suppers. Consider the number of men of letters you have mixed drinks with ! Why, man, you can succeed in any branch of literature you please.' "

My great-grandfather's face was radiant. Perhaps it was only the setting sun that touched it.

"A chip of the old block," he murmured. "That was I in my young days. Johnson, Goldsmith, Sheridan, Burke, Hume, I knew them all — gay dogs, gay dogs ! Except that great hulking brute of a Johnson," he added, with a sudden savage snarl that showed his white teeth.

" I told Addlestone that I had no literary ability whatever, and he scoffed at me for my simplicity. All the same, I think he was only poking fun at me. My friends might puff me out to bull-size ; but I am only a frog, and I should very soon burst. The public might be cajoled into buying one book ; they could not be duped a second time. Don't you think I was right? I haven't any literary ability, have I?"

" Certainly not, certainly not," replied my great-grand- father with an alacrity and emphasis that would have seemed suspicious in a mere mortal. " But it does seem a shame to waste so great an opportunity. The ball that Addlestone waited years for is at your foot, and it is grievous to think