A NOVELIST AND HIS PUBLIC.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLV, Issue 13742, 6 May 1908, Page 9

A NOVELIST AND HIS PUBLIC.

Pitor.Aßiit one of the most amusing I might say, horrifying—things that ever happened to me (writes Mr. Tom Gallon in '• P.T.0.") grew out the professed admiration of a certain roan for my novel" Tattcrley." .. . .-.-..;. ,•- T. thought at first lie "was, a nice man, because ho came, a complete stranger, hat in .hand, for the sole purpose of looking at this man who had written such a book. i was young in those days, and I felt flattered. It happened to be raining, and on that first occasion lie borrowed an umbrella, which ho said ho would regard as something sacred. It became so sacred that ho never afterwards parted with it—at least not to me. Ho called on several occasions, and he borrowed other things, in tho shape of coins. He had ; a woebegone look, and he was a very successful beggar; but at last, after some two years of it, ho exhausted my patience. After that he took to haunting the street. At last, one night, when I was setting.'on" to dine with some friends, he.waylaid mo as I was about to get into my cab, and asked for five shillings. I refused, because I felt that the time had come to put a stop to the business. As 1 got into the cab ho raised one hand towards the sky dramatically, and exclaimed, "I intend to show you up to the world. I shall cut. my throat upon your doorstep this night!". Well, I didn't think very much of it at the time, but in the middle of dinner- someone told a story about a man cutting his throat, and I grew cold all over. The (bought of that wretched man dying horribly upon my doorstep, the mental vision of what sort, of newspaper headlines would confront mo on the morrow, drove me to distraction. I made an excuse directly dinner was over, jumped into a cab, and rushed home. And there he was, huddled up on the doorstep! I dared not go near him, because I knew exactly what, I ' should find, and the i sight of blood always unnerves me. I went to a policeman and begged him to com© back with me. He was a policeman who knew me, and when I blurted out the story ho said soothingly that "P'raps it was all for the best." .'■• '•'-.'" The end of the story is, I confess, a little tame, because when we got'back to the house we discovered that the man was not dead—save in the drunken sense. And the thing that most exasperated me was the vbland"and pitying smile of that policeman. ■