The Novelist.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 219, 20 November 1875, Page 3

The Novelist.

READY-MONEY MORTIBOY. A MATTER-OF-FACT STORY. (From Casseli/h Magazine.) Chapter XXX. After walking through a number of narrow and dark passages, Frank found himself at last in the North London Palace of Amusement and Aristocratic Lounge. Eingy an d dirty by daylight it appeared. Plenty of light— to show the tawdry, gas and smoke-tarnished state of the decorations—came in through a lantern in the great doomed roof ; for the place had once been a daylight exhibition—a sort of superior Polytechnic, started at the same time as the mechanics’ institutes, whether it was thought the people would eagerly flock to improve their miuds. Mr. Leweson’s company could therefore rehearse comfortably without the gas—except on very dark and foggy days. The features of the building struck Frank as something familiar. His father and the flavor of Path buns flashed upon him ; for memory mixes incongruous elements as old recollections pour upon us. He had once been taken there as a little boy, when what was now a rnusiu hall had been the Lyceum. The place had now, however, tumbled down from its high estate, and in its fall had ruined half a dozen speculators before the genius of a Lewesou made it pay.

Frank looked round. It was the same place he was sure of that ; though how changed was all about him !

He remembered the great, bare hall, with half a dozen dreary electric machines ; the galleries, round which geological specimens were arranged ; its side wings, where were displayed such objects as ancient British pottery, specimens of early type, botanical collections, and other dry and improving things. He remembered how he had been led round, wearily yawning, with a party of girls who began by yawning too, and ended by snapping at each other. All the time there had been the buzz of a lecturer’s voice, as he addressed an audience consisting of an uncle and two miserable nephews, on the more recent improvements in machinery employed in the manufacture of cotton fabrics. Aud he remembered how his heart lightened up when they came to a refreshment stall, and everybody had a cake. He rubbed his eyes, and looked round. Yes —it was the same place ; but where the electric machines had stood was now a stage, where the geological collection had formerly been was now a row of private boxes. The apparatus had all disappeared : only the refreshmentroom remained, and this was vastly increased and improved. “ Here we are,” said Mr. Leweson. “ This is where the loonatios conic every night to stare, and listen, and drink. Amuse yourself by looking for half an hour or so.”

“ I have been here before,” Frank began. _ “Everybody comes here—it’s one of the sights of London,” said Mr. Leweson, interrupting him ; “and the loonatics——”

It was Frank’s turn to interrupt. “ I mean years ago, when it used to be called the Lyceum. I was a boy then.” “Phyoo !” the proprietor whistled. “Ah ! quite another thing. It was a Limited Li Company. It would have smashed ’em all up instead of being smashed itself, if it hadn’t been. It has been lots of things since then. Nobody made it pay till I took it in hand. Mark me,” continued Mr. Leweson, with great gravity, and in his deepest voice—

“Well, sir.” “ That’ll be the end of that round place they’re building at Kensington.” “ What, the Albert Hall ?” cried Frank.

“Yes; certain to come to it—only a question of time. Be a place just like this, and with the Horticultural Gardens at the back to walk out into and dance in the summer— Ranelagh, Vauxhall, and Cremorne thrown into one -would be nothing to it. I’d give I’d give—there, I don’t know what I wouldn’t give a year for that place, with the gardens thrown in ; and pay the biggest dividend that ever was paid by anything in this world before.” “ But, my dear sir,” Frank began, shaking his head.

“ Ah, you may laugh : and I may not, and I dare say I shall not, live to see it, but that is the future of those two places, as sure as eggs are eggs—take my word for it. But, there, I must leave you and attend to my business—they want me. Go anywhere you like, only not on the stage just yet—you’d he in the way. The new ballet is just coming on.” Mr. Leweson loft Frank in front of the stage, and disappeared himself down a trapdoor in the orchestra.

Frank took a seat in a box near the stage, and looked about him.

The scene was new to him, and, apart from the novelty, was interesting in itself. The curtain was up. It revealed an immense stage, crowded with children, girls, and men. The wings and drops were representations of the foliage of a forest of palms. In the background was a vast gold fan, which at night unfolded and displayed Titania, Queen of the Fairies, reclining among her attendant sprites and fays.

In front, close to the wire fencing of the footlights, stood a little, mean table, covered with slips of manuscript. At the table sat the chief of the orchestra, making annotations on his score with a red chalk pencil, sometimes from the manuscripts, sometimes without reference to them. By the conductor’s side stood an iron music-stand, three empty rush-bottomed chairs, and a fiddle in a case.

The rehearsal had not yet begun, and the girls were collected in little knots, always breaking up and re-forming ; chattering together like so many grasshoppers, and laughing perpetually, at nothing at all, and just out of the irrepressible gaiety of their hearts. At the sides of the proscenium were two sheets of looking-glass. These were a great source of ,attraction, and peyer idle for a second. Cqpl

stantlv, one or two <if the girls would leave the rent, and, going in front of the glass, execute a few choregic gyrations quite gravely, no one taking the least notice of them, nor they of any one else. It was quaint to sec them staidly pirouetting, gyrating, and posturing before those great glasses, each one totally regardless of the vest. The private practice and self-examination before a woman’s most faithful confessor accomplished, the young ladies would retire to their friends, and join in the neverending chatter. Directly they left the mirrors, their places were seized by a lot of tiny children girls—who, in ragged dresses, mere little children of the gutter, solemnly ambled up and down in front of the glass, put out their chubby little legs, and waved their little red arms. They never tired of looking at themselves. When their elder sisters came and turned them out, they fled like wasps from a honey pot. The moment the coast was clear, back they all came, tumbling over each other in their eagerness to be in the front, and began once more the children’s imitation of their elders’ vanities.

Frank looked on at this lively scene with great interest. He had never seen a rehearsal before. From what he had heard of the young ladies of the ballet, he had been accustomed to regard them as melancholy victims of mistaken art—persons who were compelled by want to sacrifice their self-respect, and go through a nightly course of public posturing for the admiration of a foolish crowd. Now he met them in flesh and blood, he found all his original ideas knocked on the head. So far from having no self-respect, they appeared to be full of it ; so far from having any sense of humiliation, they evidently delighted in their calling. Of course, it will be seen that Frank was exceedingly inexperienced. At the same time, had he been the most hardened old roue that ever walked behind the scenes, he could not hut he struck with the natural gaiety and lightheartedness of the girls. It was all real : no affectation or false semblance. They were all happy, all laughing, all chattering, all dancing, running, and capering about the stage. The men and boys kept at the hack. They were an exceedingly shady-looking lot. As it afterwards appeared, their business in the ballet was to come in and make gestures, to fill up the background, to stand in attitudes, and perform other easy and elementary parts which belong to dramatic representation. The girls had nothing to say to them : and they, for their part, never spoke to the girls, but kept to themselves under Titania’s great fan.

A little commotion among the crowd. It opened, and made a way for Mr. Leweson, the master of the ballet, and his two assistants. The three professors of the art of dancing were French—that was patent at half a glance. The same sallow, shaven cheeks, the same cropped black moustache, the same height, belonged to all. As Mrs. Partington would say, they might all three have been twins. And this natural resemblance was heightened by their all appearing in bluish pilot jackets, rather tight-fitting black trousers, and cloth hoots. Mr. Leweson signed to a pale man to open the fiddle case, and begin.

“We’ve got lots of work to get through, Mr. Sauerharing”—the master of the ballet was an Alsatian by birtli—“ so let us get on. I want to see that ballet of butterflies perfect this afternoon.”

“ M’sieur, you shall see it.” “ It’s a very stiff job.” “Bah!—pooh!” dissented Sauerharing. “It —is—noth—thing. ’ ’ “ Glad to hear it.”

“ Psha ! You shall see it pairfect, while you say one, two.” ITe looked at the fiddler. “Go on,” he said.

His assistants vanished among the girls, when they were seen at intervals among the crowds of coryphees, setting good example. The fiddler struck up, and the ballet commenced. The girls were dressed in all sorts of costumes. Some had their plain walkingdresses of stuff or black silk, only with their bonnets aud jackets off : some had the “bodies” of the dress —the skirts being removed—leaving them in soiled muslins ; some wore a kind of short petticoat ; one or two were in what theatrical critics call page dress, but what the girls Call “ shapes,” such as they would appear in at night. They all wore silk stockings, some of them having on a kind of red gaiters, which Frank took to he elastic, and intended to strengthen the limb. He had noticed, previous to the rehearsal, one or two artists more conscientious than the rest engaged in diligently rubbing their ankles and the circumjacent regions. At first he could not make out the reason of this manoeuvre, but was at length reminded of Lillie Bridge and professional runners. Then he knew what it was meant for.

“Goan,” said the ballet master, pronouncing the word as if he were an Irishman—“ go an, lad-ees.” They went “ an ” in that vast hall, with one spectator Frank—to the scraping of the solitary fiddle. It marked time : but for anything else, a battalion of Guards might as well have marched to the sounds of one penny whistle, or a cathedral choir have been accompanied by a jew’s harp. They were learning the figures of the butterflies’ ballet, and began the first with great vigor and energy. But they were not right about it. M. Sauerharing threw out his arms, and trilled a prolonged guttural “Ah h !” “ Bah ! —pooh ! —pliit ! —tush ! —-psha !” he cried in a string, and then gave a “klick,” like a whole cab-rank starting in pursuit of a double-fare.

The music stopped. The ladies laughed Tin professor staid—

“ Stupeed ! this is the step.’ Then ho capered solemnly iu front of them. “ One, two ; one, two —lal-lal-la, lal-lal-la ; one, two ; three, four.”

Behind him, a long file of coryphees imitated his movements. To Frank, Sauerhiiring’s limbs seemed to be of india-rubber as he shook them from side to side.

“ One, two—one, two. Now, again.” The odd thing being that they never once stopped chattering to each other and laughing. They were admirably drilled. Not one hut

kept her eye fixed upon the master—that is, one eye, the other being given up to seeing how the other girls were getting on. It was wonderful to sec them catching the combinations, and patiently working them out. As for patience, it was difficult to say whether the girls were more patient or the master more painstaking.

Presently the chief of the orchestra crossed the stage to M. Sauerharing. Directly the master turned to speak to him, the girls began to romp about, one after the other darting from the ranks, and executing a pirouette on her own account in the centre of the stage, making believe to he for once a premiere danscusc. Then the master turned round, and order was re-established.

Presently came the children’s turn. A ragged regiment they were by daylight ; at night, butterflies and moths—all spangle and gauze. Now, with muddy stockings and shoes full of holes, giving M. Sauerharing and his nicies dc camp a vast deal more trouble to teach them one figure than their elder sisters would do in learning a dozen. Their drilling lasted half an hour at least ; and at least once in two minutes the indefatigable, and as it appeared, übiquitous Sauerharing stopped fiddle and children with his guttural, tremulant “Ah —h—h !” and reeled off the five expressions of discontent he had learned from a phrase book of the English tongue in the paternal orchard in his own Alsace—- “ Bah ! —pooh ! —phit ! —tush ! —psha !” To him they w T ere a word in five syllables, and he ejaculated them to a sort of tune, as an angry vocalist might sound his “ Do, re, mi, fa, sol.” Among the children, one little mite about six years attracted Frank’s attention. She had been the most assiduous while she was on the stage in ambling up and down before the mirrors. Now she led off the train of children with a precision of soleminity that were most edifying, executing her simple steps most carefully and conscientiously. The moment she was free again, she ran off to the looking-glass, and practised them over again, with many curtseys and salutes, wonderful to see. That child will rise and be heard of in her profession, unless some unlucky accident outs her off. While this branch of the corps cle ballet were practising figures and groupings, there came upon the scene one of the principal dancers, dressed as if for the evening, but without any flowers or jewels, just as she appears in the initial letter to this chapter. She walked across the front of the stage, regarding the lower members of the profession with that stare that sees nothing, common enough among the gentle daughters of England’s aristocracy. A mere ballet girl, a troupe of ballet girls, what could they possibly he in the eyes of Mdlle. Goldoni, from the opera house of Milan? In her hand she bore a small watering-pot, with which she sprinkled the boards in front of the looking-glass on the left, took possession of it, and proceeded to practice by herself. First, she turned round on the left toe, with the right leg a foot and a half above her head ; then she performed the same manoeuvre with her right toe and left leg ; then she placed her foot as high up on the gilded pillar of the proscenium as she could, and kept it there ; then she began arching her feet before the glass ; then she went over the whole performance again—never disturbed by the others, who took no manner of notice of her, and never herself taking the least notice of the. rest ;• —- all the while looking in the glass with a sort of curiosity, as if the legs belonged to somebody else. One or two other people, including a lady of immense proportions, in black velvet, came in, and sat on chairs in front of the stage. The little children romped round the house, and vaulted about over the hacks of the seats. The unhappy-looking youths, iu felt hats and greasy coats, at the hack went through the semblance of what they were about to perform at night in spangles and hodden suits. The assistant ballet-masters capered and danced all over the stage. The girls went through their drill again and again. No one got tired. The melancholy fiddler, whose strains produced a profoundedly saddening effect on Frank, played on with the pertinacity and monotony of an organ grinder. The conductor of the orchestra made liis notes on the music ; the big lady in black velvet gazed on unweariedly ; the manager, Mr. Leweson, came and went, bringing his big head upon the stage and taking it off again at intervals.

At last he came round to Frank’s box with a portfolio in his hand. “ Always a lot to do with the production of a new ballet. Now let us talk while they finish the rehearsal. You see, Mr. Melliship, the loonatics who come here like a ballet : not that they care, bless you, what it’s like, or what it means, so long as there’s plenty of short skirts on the stage. But it must he a Specthrcle ! Another thing the loonatics that frequent this miserable Palace of Humbug like is the sight of somebody running the risk of breaking their hones. So we’ve got a trapeze rigged up, as you see. But they must needs have a woman, so we’ve got the Divine Giulia —Giulia Salvani —to perform with her father. I daresay they’ll be round presently. Comic songs of course they must have. We’ve got the Inexpressible Jones, and the Incomparable and Aristocratic Arthur De Vere. They only come at night, of course. Beautiful specimens of the aristocracy, both of them—but they go down with the loonatics.”

He stopped, and began to look about in his portfolio. He produced a manuscript. “ Now, with a singer like yourself, there are only two lines open. You must give up altogether the notion that the British loonatic wants music. Ho doesn't, lie wants sentiment to make him cry, aud patriotism to warm up his puny little heart. I’m ashamed of him, Mr. Melliship—l am, indeed. But what can I do ? Here I am, after advertising you yesterday in all the papers, and sending sandwiches up and down the streets to-day ”

“ Advertising me !” “Yes. Look here : wonder you didn’t see it as you came along.”

Ho called one of the children, and sent her for a hill. She presently returned with a flamming poster. NORTH LONDON PALACE OF AMUSEMENT AND ARISTOCRATIC LOUNGE. IX ADDITION TO THE GALAXY OF TALENT Already engaged, the Manager has great pleasure in announcing that lie has secured, for a short time only, the services of the New and Great Angeo-Itaeian Tenor, SIGNOR CIPRIANO. The Signor, who has never sung before in England, but who is well known to possess the finest Tenor Voice in the World, will Sing TO-NIGHT, AND UNTIE FURTHER NOTICE, THREE BALLADS. EVERY EVENING, At ffa/f-past Ei'/ht and Half-past JVine. Across this announcement was a colored strip, with “ To-night ” upon it. Frank read it with a mixed feeling of annoyance and amusement. After all it didn’t matter. His new grand name was better, at any rate, than His own—if he must appear before a British audience. “ I suppose it’s all right,” he said, doubtfully, handing it hack. “Of course it is ; hut the thing is, what you’re to sing. Now, I asked my man”—he meant a musical understrapper who composed songs for him, words and music, at a pound apiece—“ I asked my man to knock me off a little thing in imitation of the Christy’s songs of domestic pathos—you know—like ‘Slam the door loudly, for mother’s asleep,’ ‘Touch the place softly, my pretty Louise,’ ‘ Father, come home, for mother is tight, ;—charming songs, you know, with a chorus soft and whispered at the end, so as to bring the tears in the people’s eyes. Now, what do you think he brought me this morning. Read that.” He looked at Frank curiously, while the latter read it and laughed. It was a song based on one of the humblest and most ordinary topics of “ domestic pathos,” and ran thus “ He will catch it from his mother. For the widow's heart is low, And beneath the weeping willows Still her wayward child will go, O’er the river course the shadows — He lias spoiled his hoots and hat— While the sunset lights the meadows, For his mother spank the brat.” “‘Vulgar and coarse’? I knew you’d say so,” said the Bighead. “ It’s a pity, too. My man told me it was written in direct imitation of the gTeat original—with whispered chorus, and all. See what a capital effect it would have. You in the centre, head held down in attitude of listening—so ; voices behind—unseen, you know—‘for his mother’— ‘ for his mother ’ —‘ for his mother ’ —dying away, with a harp obligato to follow.” “ I’ll sing it, if you like,” said Frank. “ What does it matter, if the people like it ?”

“ Ah, we must follow the loonatics, not lead ’em as I should wish,” said Mr. Leweson, sighing. “ Well, well, we’ll have it; though it’s a shame—it’s a shame to ask a man with your voice to sing such a song. Now for the second—' The Bay of Biscay.’ It will suit you well. They’ll encore that ; or you may sing ‘ The Death of Nelson.’ And now to try the room.” He led the way to the stage, had a piano wheeled in, sat down, and directed Frank where to stand—giving him, at the same time, a few hints on the art of bowing to an assemblage of British loonatics. The acoustic properties of the place were splendid. Frank felt as if he had never sung in his life before, as he heard liis own voice filling the great building and eclioingin the roof. “What do you think of that ?” whispered Mr. Leweson to the conductor. “How long have you got him for ?” “ Two months’ agreement first. I'm going to make him sign directly.” “ How much ?” “Three guineas.” “ Make it six months. You won’t keep him a day beyond his time.” Frank finished. “How was that, Mr. Leweson ?” “ Very good—very good. A little softer at the finish : don’t he afraid they won’t hear you. I’ll have the chorus all right for you by the time you come this eveniog. Now for ‘ The Death of Nelson.’ You may make the glasses ring, if you like. Come iu Patty, my dear. Where’s your father ?” This was a new comer—a singularly pretty, modest-looking girl. He did not wait for an answer to liis question, hut began at once. Frank finished the song, and Mr. Leweson clapped his hands in applause. “ That’ll bring the house down, if anything will. Bravo, Mr.—l mean, .Signor Cipriano, you know. Now, look here—l’m not going to have you encored, and spoiling your voice, to please a lot of lunatics, so they needn’t think it. To-night you may do it. I shall go on myself, and make a speech alter it. You’ll hear me. Patty, this is our new singer—a very different sort to the rest, as you’ll find. Signor, this is the Divine Giulia Silvani—only at home we call her Patty Silver ; and she’s worth her weight in gold, I can tell you. Here’s her father.”

Frank took off his hat, and shook hands with the girl. Her hands wore rough aud hard, her fingers thick—ho noticed that as she stood gloveless on the stage. But her face was wonderfully soft aud delicate in expression : one of those faces—-the features not too good, and perhaps commonplace in character—which one meets from time to time in the London streets ; —not the face of a lady at all, but, at the same time, a lovable and good face. She was different to the ballot girls, somehow—had none of their restlessness, did not laugh, did not jump about before the glass ; stood quietly beside the piano, and just listened and waited. She was the female trapezist, and with her father performed the Miraculous Flying Leap for Life every night. Her little brother com-

pleted the talented Silvani Family ; and though yet of tender years, was admitted to a trifling performance on a small trapeze of liis own, from which he could not fall more than twenty or thirty feet or so—a mere trifle to a child of ten.

The family wore special favorites of the manager, for some reason or other. His big head had a big heart connected with it, as more than one in the place had found out.

After singing his songs, and receiving the suggestions of his employer, Frank went with him to liis private room. A paper was lying on the table.

“That’s your agreement, Mr. Melliship. You pledge yourself to sing for me, and only for me, for two mouths, at a fixed salary of three guineas a week, at least three ballads or songs every night. I introduce you to the public, aud have my profit out of the small salary you will get. You see, Mr. Melliship, I’m a plain man. I like your voice. I like your appearance. lam making terms advantageous to myself, but not bad for you. And if you were to go to anybody in London, you wouldn’t get better for a first engagement. My conductor advised me to nail you down for six months, hut I keep to my original terms. Treat me well, Mr. Melliship, and I’ll treat you well. So there we are ; and, if you’ll sigu, a pint of champagne aud a dry biscuit will help us along.” Frank drank the champagne, signed his name, and went away, free until eight.

He dined at Mrs. Skimp’s where old Mr. Eddrup was, as usual, made the butt of “ Captain ” Hamilton’s wit. After dinner he smoked a pipe in the garden of the square ; and then, as the time was fast approaching, he dressed himself with considerable care, aud walked to the Palace.

The place was crowded. Nearly every mau had a class before him, and a pipe or a cigar in his mouth. There were constant cries of “Waiter,” constant popping of corks. The smell of tobacco was overpowering. The heat and the gas made the place almost intolerable. Frank stood at the sidewings while a ballet went on—not that which he had seen rehearsed, hut a similar one, intended to open the evening. “ After this, the Inexpressible Jones. After him, you,” said Mr. Leweson. “ That’s to take him down a few pegs. He think’s he’s got a tenor. With a voice like a cow.” Tlie Inexpressible sang. He was encored. He sang again. They wanted to encore him a second time. It was a charming pastoral, relating how lie, the I. J., had been walking one evening in the fields, with an umbrella, and had there met a young lady belonging to the same exalted rank among the aristocracy as himself ; how he had held a conversation with her under his umbrella ; how she had promised to meet him the next evening, provided he came with liis umbrella ; how lie had kept his appointment, with his umbrella, and how she had not. It was a comic song, acted with an umbrella, so true to life that the “loonatics” shrieked with laughter. When the laughter had quite subsided, it was Frank’s turn to go on.

Mr. Leweson was below among the audience, contemplating his patrons with an air of undisguised contempt. He was the first person Frank saw in the mass of heads beneath and in front of him.

For a moment, he trembled and lost his nerve. Only for a moment. As the piano struck up, he managed to see the words that were swimming before him, and plunged at once into his ballad of the domestic affections. The chorus was more than admirable—it was superb : an invisable chorus, in soft voices, murmuring the refrain like an echo—

“ For liis mother—for liis mother—for liis mother till the people cried at the pathos. “The loonatics,” ho heard the manager growling to himself.

The applause was tremendous. He retired amid a general yell of “core—'core !” and reappeared a moment after with flushed cheeks —for even the approbation of “ loonatics ”is something—to sing “ The Death of Nelson.” Frank went home that night satisfied, if not happy. He was a success at last—if only a success at tln-ee guineas a week. He prayed fervently that no old friends would come to detect him. If only lie could preserve liis incognito, all would be well. He reckoned only ou old friends. He had forgotten new acquaintances. The very next day, at dinner, after a general whispering at the upper end of the table, which Mr. Eddrup interpreted to mean an organised attack upon himself, Captain Hamilton turned to him, and openly congratulated him on his success the preceding evening at the North London Palace of Amusement.

“Of course,” said the gallant officer, “it was an unexpected pleasure to see, in the person of Signor Cipriano, a gentleman who does us the favor to dine at our humble table.”

Frank reddened, and could find nothing to say. Mr. Eddrup answered for him. It was the first time the old man had ever been known to speak.

“I congratulate you,” he said to Frank, “on the possession of a talent which enables you to take houcst work. Believe me, sir, all work is honest.”

“Bravo, old Eddrup !” shouted the medical student. “We’ve made him speak at last. I always knew he was one of the most eloquent orators going.” Frank turned with flushing cheeks. “At all events,” he said; “it is better to sing at a public place than to—to—" “ To what, sir ?” said tho student. “ Singing cad !” escaped the Captain’s lips, in tones very clearly audible. Frank half rose from his scat, and turned towards the Captain. “ Better than loafing about in billiardrooms, and on suburban racecourses, Captain Hamilton.” There was a dead silence.

“ After dinner, sir,” said Captain Hamilton, after a pause, “we must have a word together.”

“And mo, too,” said the medical student, with disregard for grammar. “Stick to ’em,” whispered Captain Bowker. “ Stick to ’em. They’re only curs. I’ll see fair play.” After dinner, Captain Hamilton, none of the rest leaving the room, came up to Trank as he stood in the window.

“ Sir, you have insulted me.” “ Probably.” It was said calmly, but Trank’s lips were trembling. “ Sir, you must give me satisfaction.” “Take it, then,” shouted the young man, striking out with his left arm.

The Captain fell—and did not get up again. “Oh ! gentlemen—gentlemen,” cried Mrs. Skimp, running before Trank—“don’t fight—oh ! pray don’t fight! He owes me for six weeks,” she whispered. “I said he was a loafer—a welch er. I know he is. I have seen him ducked in a horsepoud before to-day,” said Trank, who was recovering his calmness. The others all burst out laughing, except the medical student, who thought that perhaps his turn was coming next. The Captain rose slowly, but with dignity. “This,” he said, “will not end here. You will hear from me to-morrow.” He was leaving the room, the medical student going with him. “ Stop,” said Trank. “ There is something else to be said. Both yesterday and to-day—-and, I believe, always—there has been made a series of attacks, personal, insulting, aud caddish, on an old gentleman of perfectly inoffensive habits Mr. Eddrup. The two principal offenders are you two Captain Hamilton and you—whatever your name is ” he pointed to the medical student. “ Now, as I, for one, decline to belong to those who wilfully insult an old man, I intend to take his quarrel upon myself. Who ever insults Mr. Eddrup, henceforth, insults me. Now, Captain Hamilton, and you other, you may go to the devil.”

They went out. Mrs. Skimp was the only one who regretted the incident.

“Six weeks due from the Captain, she moaned, “ and four from the other.”

“Sir,” said Captain Bowker, wringing Frank’s hand, “I’m proud of you. You’re a good fellow, sir—a good fellow. I wish I could do something for you.” Trank laughed. “ You can,” he said. “ You can come and hear me sing * The Death of Nelson,’ if you like.”

“By the Lord, I will,” said the Captain. “ I haven’t been to a place of amusement for ten years. I’ll go to-night.” Mr. Eddrup said nothing. In his usual quiet and methodical manner, he stepped out of the room, and went upstairs. In many cheap boarding-houses there is Pfere Goriot, young or old. In very few is there a man to be found with courage to stand up and protect a butt from the assaults of his enemies.

That night, Captain Hamilton went out, and came back no more. His effects, when examined, were found to consist principally of one trunk, locked—filled with stones 'wrapped in newspapers.