THE SHANGHAIED SON-INLAW.

Oamaru Mail, Volume XXXIX, Issue 10671, 21 January 1911, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE SHANGHAIED SON-IN-LAW.

(By Edgar Jepson.)

Joseph P. Mallett was breakfasting in the morning room of his London house in rich content. He had come to Europe for rest and refreshment after a glorious financial campaign in which, having banged together the heads of the Bourses of the world —to speak figuratively —for rather more than two months, he had wrested from them four million' dollars and stored them away in gilt-edged securities., Moreover, as he breakfasted his eyes rested with the fond appreciation of a connoisseur on the famous Botticelli, the last masterpiece he had added to his collection : and the admiration of the connoisseur was in no degree lessened by the satisfaction of the man at having himself devised the scheme by which this treasure had been smuggled" out of Italy under the very eves°of a jealous Government. "Then, on the conclusion of an admirably grilled solo, .at the very height of his content the door opened, and his daughter Elizabeth came "in, her pretty face set in a very tragic expression.

"Hello, little girl! 'What's brought vou to London!' I thought you were settled in Uudleigh Saltertou for the next month," cried the millionaire, rising hastily: and he hugged her with affectionate vigor. "It's —it's Algernon." said Elizabeth with another sob. "Pie's left me." "The deuce he has!" cried the millionaire. "Forever," said Elizabeth with, another sob. "Oh, has he: - We'll see about that." said the millionaire, smiling with dangerous eyes. "Vou sit down now and have some breakfast; and after that vou can tell me all about it." "I don't want any breakfast. 1 couldn't eat any!" cried Elizabeth. "Breakfast first—trouble afterwards. I don't hear a word till you've had a meal. You must have been travelling since five this morning, and you're worn out." said the millionaire firmly. Elizabeth protested, but her father had his way. He rang for tea and toast, helped her divest herself of her cloak, drew the hatpins out of her hat, settled her at the table and poured -jut her tea. Then, while she ate two pieces of toast, he finished his breaktast.

There was but little likeness between tliem. Elizabeth was beautiful and delicate, clear-skinned, with deep, liquid eyes like mountain pools; her lips were full and scarlet, her nose was straight and admirably formed, her face was intensely alive with changing emotions; she was instinct with the charm of some strange, fragile, precious thing. Nature had moulded her father's face carelessly, in a hurry. It was nearly square, with rugged features; the nose like a chunk of granite; the brows thrust forward; the lips thin, pink lines; the eyes of the same color _as those of Elizabeth, but hard, unwinking and rather dull; and the square chin of the same granite formation as the nose. Were it possible for'.a multimillionaire to be ugly, ugly Joseph P. Mallet would have been. When he was still there was little suggestion of power about him; when he was interested or speaking there was too much; but for all that he had a melodious, well-modu-lated voice, with some delightful notes in it.

He talked to Elizabeth about her journey, the opera, his' new masterpiece, their friends in London, till she had finished her tea and toast. Then he said: "Well, little, girl, let's hear what vou quarrelled about." "I didn't quarrel—Algernon quarrelled," Elizabeth protested. "It began about my frocks. I- was wearing them narrow, like everybody else; and ne said it was conventional, and wanted me to wear them loose and flowing—like Mrs Singleton-Byng ?" "Who is Mrs Singleton-Byng?" said her father quickly. "She's a great friend of Algernon's. They hav.e so much in common —she's very artistic, and she writes poetry herself. He wanted me to wear loose frocks like hers, so as to have beautiful lines of drapery about me " "Algernon's a fool," said the millionaire, looking at Elizabeth's slender rind beautifully proportioned figure. 'And. I said my Agate was better than lines of drapery. And he said-1 didn't appreciate the longing of the poet's soul lor beauty. And I said if I wasn't beautiful enough for him he'd- better find somebody who was. And he talked about the beauty of the soul and the soul's seeking true kinship— —" "He is a fool!" said the millionaire with genuine fervor. "He's nothing of the kind! He reallv felt it!" cried" Elizabeth. "And then" we had a dreadful row. We said horrid things—for two, days. I was sorry for it afterward. But he went off. and I've been perfectly miserable over since—three whole days. Suppose something's happened to him — he mav have committed suicide!' 'He's not such a fool as all that, though vou have been pampering him," said her father. "Where's the letter he left for you?" "How do you know he left a letter.'' said Elizabeth. "They always do," said the millionaire patiently. "... , , ~ She opened her wnstbag reluctantly, drew out of it a letter and gave it to him. He found it damp, for she had wept over it. many times. Also he found it everything that was mournful and calculated to wring her tender' heart; his fingers itched to wring the writers neck. At the end of it ho said: 'lt must have taken him hours to write this. How old is Mrs Singleton-Byng?" "Ever so old—at least thirty," said Elizabeth. .

"And what's she like?" "She's tall and dark and fat, said Elizabeth. "But what do you want to know about her for?" "Nothing—nothing at all —I was just wondering," said the millionaire hastily. "You think 6he has had something to. do with his running away! If I thought lie had gone to that horrid creature I'd never speak to him again—never! And it's perfectly horrid of you to suggest it: - ' cried Elizabeth. "I don't—l don't," said her father hastily; "but he may let her know whore" lie is, and the first thing to do nto find him. What's her address?" No. 9, Bargrave Mansions, Kensington.'' . ~, , Good," said the milionaire. And tm v. if I recover Algernon for you, you tv.v.si stop pampering him. Thats v.hut's the matter with him —pamper'i;~-'' He is so delicate and sensitive, signed Elizabeth. _ "Never mind; make him work. • "You can't make a poet work. He ha; to wait for inspiration," said ElizaKth. That's what makes Algernon's p-ietry so thin," said the millionaire with an illumined air. "A good poet v.-urks like a nigger. You stand over A!-,>rnon and keep him at it." I might try," said Elizabeth, but not hopefully. You're got to. You've been pamper- !!.£ him in idleness on your fifty thousand pounds a year and he's had nothing to do butcultivate a divine disKjiitcnt—with you. Now you run away .;nd buy some new frocks —narrow ones; and in "the course of a week or two I'll restore your Algernon to j'ou—in his mind." "You'll be gentle with him: he is so ■I-'licate and sensitive," said Elizabeth anxiously. "I'll treat him like a lamb," said the millionaire grimly. He refrained from increasing Iter •uixiety and weakening her filial respect h.y pointing out that he had spent most °r the last five-and-twenty years skin-'-!'u' those frolicsome but confiding create kissed him and went: then he sat gendering for a while. He had not been !'!• : ; sed with her marriage to Algernon S -rynigconr. It- had come of her enfor painting; she had believed she had a genius for that art, and ' : "'-i practiced it in the studio of Brang«'_vii with a delightful earnestness and -i-tir. Her father had-let her have her

'•'•"ay: for. though the newspapers of Wh hemispheres proclaimed him a cosmopolitan, he clung firmly to American • -sentials and, though' he saw to it that fhe had everything in the way of educari"n Europe had to offer, he was carer"! to give her spirit ite fullest, freest 'xpansion. r Out of her painting had come her jnarriarje. " Algernon Scrymgeour had ! !(, en the centre of a circle of the admirln£ young; into that circle her fellow had brought her. and she and 'fee poet had fallen in love with one

another with a passion and violence proper to their years. With a sigh for his lost dream of a sturdy and accomplished son-in-law, who would help him bang together the heads of the Bourses of the " world, the ' millionaire had acquiesed in the marriage. He knew everything that was to be known about the European marriage-market; he did not admire it. and he held very stronglv the national belief that it is best even for the mistress of millions to marry for love. Perhaps he was biased in the matter, for he had married for love himself.

From the .social point of view there was little to be said against the marriage: for all that he was a poet, there were only two uncommonly bad lives between Algernon and a peerage. The thing that most troubled the millionaire was that he had no warm admiration for Algernon's poetry. The sou of a millionaire himself, he had imbibed alb the culture that Oxford and European travel and society had to offer before lie had settled down to the serious business of skinning lambs; and he knew poetry as he. knew pictures. He found Algernon's poetry thin. If he must have a poet for a son-in-law he would have preferred him to be a genuine poet and not a writer of charming verse.

However, the important thing was that Algernon should make Elizabeth happy; and until this morning the millionaire had believed that he was doing so.

It was the question of how to secure her happiness rather than of how to restore Algernon to her that kept him pondering for nearly an hour, and he had devised no plan fordoing so whence went to the telephone, rang up the private inquiry agency he used in his financial alfairs and bade it find Algernon.

Elizabeth returned to lunch listless and dispirited : she had no real heart for shopping. Once more the millionaire's ringers itched to wring the poet's neck. He assured her that the morrow would bring news of her lost husband and set himself to charm away her despondency. He took her to Huriingham, to dinner at the Uitz, to an amusing play, to supper at the Savoy. He tired her out and she slept well. The morrow brought no news of the vanished poet; nor did the next day, nor the next. The millionaire devoted himself to the distraction of Elizabeth with all his amazing energy. For ten days he- kept her in a perpetual whirl, but she could not be distracted. She drooped and his fingers itched and itched for the poet's neck. He found it quite easy, however, to keep the private inquiry agency distracted; he rang it up- and cursed it exhaustively three times a day. It increased its staff,' but it did not find Algernon. On the morning of the eleventh day Joseph P. Mallett saw in the literary pages of the daily papers column reviews of the new volume of Algernon's rival, the poet Wilkins. He asked Elizabeth the name of Algernon's bookseller and found that he was his own. At noon ho came into the bookstore and the chief bookseller ran to greet him. "I want to send, a copy of Theodore Wilkins' new volume of poems to my son-in-law, Mr Algernon Scrymgeour," said the millionaire.

"We're this very moment packing one up to send to him. His wire reached us a-quarter of an hour ago," said the bookseller, "and we're getting it off by the one o'clock post:" "Yes; I suppose there's only one delivery at that out-of-the-way hole. Can you tell me at what time his letters do reach him?" said the millionaire. .- The chief bookseller bade one of his clerks find out from the post-office guide at what hour letters were delivered at Twinkmouth. The millionaire received the information with an unsmiling face; but, as he came out of the store, he chuckled at his knowledge of poetsAlgernon had been bound to have his . rival's poems. He motored quickly home and at once dispatched his accomplished but moonfaced valet, Forbes, to Twinkmouth to spy out the land. Then he rang up the private inquiry agency, cursed it exhaustively once more aud relieved it of its task. Then he sought out Elizabeth.

"I've found out where Algernon is," he cried triumphantly. Elizabeth's eyes shone'-with a sudden, bright light. She flushed; then she said coldly: "Have you?" "I thought you'd be wanting to rush off to recover him," said the millionaire, a little 'dashed by her lack of enthusiasm.

"I shall do nothing of the kind!" cried Elizabeth with spirit. . "If he wants to come-to me he can come!"-

"Yes; you're quite right. ThTTt's the right spirit,'? said the millionaire. But he observed that the right spirit did not restore the color to her pale cheeks or stimulate her failing appetite, or fill her with any happiness perceptible to his inquiring eyes. When, that night, she had gone dispirited to bed he addressed his vigorous mind to the discovery of some method of closing the widening breach. It was two o'clock in the morning before his plan, came to him, and he found from his largest atlas that the village of Twinkmouth was fifteen, miles north of Mulling's Island. Not four people in the world knew that Mulling's Island was the property of the millionaire, and only Forbes knew that he used it to obtain the great draughts of rest and quiet and healthful life he found needful to maintain his fine energy in all its vigordraughts that produced those mysterious disappearances from human ken, which inspired such a useful uneasiness in the bosoms of the Bourses. He had long abandoned hope of eluding the keen, untiring eyes of the fierce reporters of his native land, and ceased to use its wilds for these purposes; he had found the tamer, more domesticated reporters of' England far easier to elude.

The nest morning a long wire came from Forbes. It had been dispatched from Byehamptou, a town twelve miles from Twinkmouth, and brought the information that Algernon was staying at the Twinkmouth inn, that he spent his days with Mr and Mrs Singleton-Byng and took all his meals at their-villa.

Joseph P. Mallett took the twelve o'clock train to Byehampton, bearing with him a large case of provisions. Forbes and an electric launch awaited, him in Byehampton harbor, and they crossed to Mulling's Island. Forbes hoisted the heavy case of provisions on' to the millionaire's broad back, and with, uncommon ease he bore it to the house, which stood in a rather bare garden fifty yards from the beach. They unpacked the case of provisions and made a meal. An hour later the millionaire 'Kent for a swim. After that he dressed simply in a fisherman's jersey and trousers, and with a hoyish zest assumed a snaggy red wig. The keen eyes of the fierce reporters of his native land would not- have recognised him, much less any untrained mortal.. They embarked on the electric launch, and soon after five o'clock they moored her to the steps of the little Twinkmouth jetty. Forbes kept out of sight. Confident of his disguise, the millionaire strolled through the village and past Ms son-in-law, a man and a lady, the villa of the Singleton-Byng's. In "the garden 'he saw his son-in-law, a iman - and a lady.. Wishing to inspect the lady whose spirit Algernon found so akin to his own, the millionaire made a circuit of the house and- fetched tip against a tall hedge that ran along the bottom of the garden. Through it he had an excellent vieiv of the three people in the garden. He perceived that-Mrs Singleton-Byng was, as Elizabeth had said, tall and fat—ra mud-facedworaan, with a roving eye; -He. failed to percive any beauty in the flowing draperies in which she was wallowing, and his opinion of his son-in-law's taste sank and sank.

Mr Singleton-Bj'ng was .1. weary-look-ing man, plainly subdued to'a perpetual meekness by sustained intercourse with his high-son led wife: hut Algernon's face most arrested the, attention of the millionaire. He had not seen it for three months and it had changed woefully. Formerly it had been a beautiful face of fine lines, with a touch of austerity in it : it had been the one possession of his son-in-law he had envied. Now it was puffy and the lines were blurred. The whites of his once so clear blue eyes were yellowish. The millionaire fancied that his nose and lips had thickened, and that the line golden hair, which fell nearly to the collar of his coat, was losing its lustre. He withdrew quietly from the hedge. Fixe yards away from it he said under his breath: "Liver —liver —he'd, quarrel

with an angel." He spoke with conviction. Ten yards away he said: "We must change all this." • He said it grimly. For the rest of the afternoon he and Forbes lay in the launch, a hundred and fifty yards out, smoking and reading. At seven o'clock they saw Algernon come clown to the little inn. At halfpast seven they saw him come out of it in evening dress and take his way up the village street. "With some alacrity they brought the launch to the jettv and were presently making a hearty meal of bacon and eggs in the parlor of the inn. From nine until a-quarter to eleven they sat at the head of the jetty, smoking and talking. Forbes was a well-informed though moon-faced man; he had seen men and cities and knew the secrets of courts. At a-quarter to eleven they strolled up the silent village street and sat on a gate within view of the SingletonByiig villa. At a-quarter past eleven the poet came from the f 'presence of his Egeria- and her suppressed husband and betook himself to his inn. The two sailormen who' walked down the street in front of him did not excite his interest. He passed them at the bottom of the street and was turning the corner of the inn when, of a sudden, two large hands seized his arms in a powerful grip and he found himself rushing down the jetty before a resistless propulsion. The surprise and the pace set his wits, in such a flutter that he did not even think to yell. Then he was further propelled down the jetty steps in a reckless, break-neck fashion, which bade fair to plunge him and his propeller into : the sea. He escaped the plunge by tumbling into the stern of the launch in a very bruising way. A man of considerable weight sat flown on him with extraordinary carelessness —but heavily and deftly thrust a handkerchief into his mouth just as he opened it to voice his sorrows. In half a minute his hands were bound behind his back. Then.he recognised his father-in-law's mellow laugh. The launch ran out to sea and for the next four hours ploughed the viciously heaving main. During that painful'time everything detachable left the interior of the poet. When at last he -set foot on Mulling's Island it behaved to him more like a rocking-horse than a fixed but protruding portion of the everlasting hills. He was shoved rather than assisted along to the house, up the stairs to a poky little servant's bedroom and locked in. His fastidious soul, used to the lofty chambers provided by the money of Elizabeth, was not in a state to be revolted by this confined garret. He could, only cling tightly to the rocking bed till he fell asleep. He awoke next morning rather dizzy, but with a clamoring appetite. With a shiver of disgust he proceeded to put on his crumpled shirt and crumpled evening dress, because they were all he had to put on. Then he hammered on the locked door in a very peremptory fashion. For nearly an hour no heed was paid to his knocking;_ and during all that time he had to listen to the almost hysterical complaints of his appetite, powerless to fill, the void of which it complained. Then Forbes opened the door, led him down to the kitchen and informed him respectfully that he had to get his own breakfast. The poet was too hungry to rebel against the menial task. He made the coffee —very badly—and fell- upon the bread and jam like a starving wolf. It was but poor, insipid fare for a man of his cultivated palate, but he was surprised at the strides his. appetite had made in the night. When he had finished Forbes told him that Mr Mallett wished -to speak to him; and fortified by the meal the poet came into the presence of his father-in-law with a burning soul. He did not give the millionaire time to say anything. Forthwith, he began to pour out upon him the vials of his wrath.

The millionaire listened to him in dull silence. When the vials were empty he said: "I've'heard you praise the simple life, Algernon, and j'ou're going to get it—crude. It's what you want. The three of us are going to make a little social experiment'in ..that way of living. Each of us'will have _ to. do his share of the work of our little community. You can begin by washing up the breakfast things." "I'm not going to wash dishes for a kidnapping blackguard like you!" cried the poet, careless of the idle forms of diplomacy. "I think you are," said Joseph P. Mallett, unmoved. ' 'ln our simple little paradise the rule is: No work, no food. Moreover, a man who deserts_ an affectionate wife who allows him five thousand pounds a year isn't fit to eat with his fellow creatures. You'll take your meals by yourself and you'll have the privilege of cooking them first —not that you'll get much to cook. I have hopes—some hopes—that a course of the simple, hardy life will make a man of you. If it doesn't I shall take you three miles out to sea —I can swim six comfortably—in the launch and sink her. It will be better for Elizabeth to be a widow than married to a hog who can't • appreciate her." He spoke without warmth, but earnestly. The poet believed him, cursed him with tho utmost freedom and flung out of the house.

He set about exploring Mulling's Island and found it disappointing. It was a third of a mile across and its shores were cliffs not more than forty feet high, but sheer. There was a narrow inlet that led to a small stone quay to which the launch was moored by "a padlocked chain. On the headland at the mouth of the inlet was a large noticeboard. -On it the poet read the simple but distinct legend:

BEWARE OF THE MANIAC . HE THROWS ROCKS.

He did not think that any one would land with undue haste. He found a sunny nook, sat down and let his soul boil its' fill. Ho'gazed furiously at the white cliffs of Albion, which rose very alluring on either side of Byehampton, seven miles away. There were six cigarettes in his case. Thoughtlessly he smoked them all. His resolve never to put dishcloth to crockery grew firmer and firmer. At noon ho saw his father-in-lan r go.down to the sea and set about swimming round the island. For ten minutes he considered earnestly the question of braining.him with a rock thrown from the cliffs. He realised sadly that _it was not possible—his arm had lost its boyhood's knack; he would ingloriously miss. He -brooded gloomily on his wrongs and longed for the stimulating companionship of Mrs Singleton-Byng. At two o'clock his appetite gave him a gentle reminder —not so very gentle either. At three o'clock it was remonstrating severely with his proud, unbending spirit. By four o'clock it was querulously insistent. At five o'clock it was vociferating furiously. _. His proud spirit seemed somewhat, ineffectual to .still its base clamor. _. His appetite gave him no leisure to ; long for the stimulating companionship of Mrs Singleton-Byng. By half-past five it had -won over to its side the rest of, his being and his proud spirit yielded to the pressure. He went to the kitchen. He satisfied himself that all the food was locked up before he set about the degrading task. It took him longer than he expected, and all the while his appetite roared at him passionately for having let so many golden hours glide idly and emptily by. He was faint with hunger by tlio time he had done. Then he shouted to Forbes, who was fishing from the edge of the cliff. Forbes came; the poet sprang upon him wolfishly, dragged him into the kitchen, showed him the clean crockery and demanded food. In a dull, phlegmatic way Forbes opened the larder and brought out a loaf of bread, a pot of■ jam and coffee. Algernon cut a ■iai'it slice of bread and covered it with jam before be set about making the coffee. As ho made it lie ate like a wolf. Iu happier days lie would have regarded the simple meal with the scorn of scorns ; to-day he found it delicious.

He went back to his sunny nook, replete and once more rebellious ; once more he let his soul boil its full. The tide was low. He sow I'orbos and the millionaire go down to the sands at the mouth of the inlet with a drag-net. They waded into the sea and dragged it from h'-adland to headland. They caught fish. Algernon was full and uninterested. At nine o'clock ho turned sleepy and went in. Forbes informed him respectfully that he would have to wash the supper things before

ho had breakfast. His soul boiled up afresh; ho went to bed revolving plans of murdering his father-in-law, with every circumstance of unspeakable barbarity. Tho next morning ho rose- earlier than ho had risen for years, hungry. He lighted tho fire in the kitchen himself, with a considerable expenditure of wood, in order to get hot water for washing tho crockery and to have the kettle boiling for coffee at the ee'.rliest possible moment. He was annoyed to find that bread, jam and coffeo were his allotted breakfast portion. Unpoetic as are chops, his vivid imagination pictured six stout ones on a dish as very agreeable things ; but he ate a great deal of bread and jam and found that ho was improving in the coffeemaking art. None tho less the two largo soles that Forbes grilled for his own and his master's breakfast filled him with bitterness.

After breakfast ho was summoned to tho presence of his father-in-law and at once said several unpleasant things about kidnapping and the law of tho land.

Joseph P. Mallett ignored them. He ,said: -'The simple life is progressive; its object is to produce the healthy mind in the healthy body." "Confound the simple life!" said the poet curtly. _ . "I'm not enough of a psychologist to bo able to produce the healthy mind with any certainty.- Besides, for anything I can gather from your verse you may be suffering from some form of suppressed genius; in which case it might be useless to attempt it," said his father-in-law in a musing tone. "But I can produce the healthy hody [ and I'm going to. You haven't bathed : ytft." -. :■!- :■:.:■■ "I don't bathe," said the poet. "You're wrong; you do," said'the millionaire in.-a.tqne of conviction. "Leastways, if you don't bathe' of. yourself we'll thro*; you over the cliff and you'll get ashore as best you can. You'll bathe at ten' o'clock and after you've bathed you'll till the earth." The poet assure|f|him with fervent conviction ■ and ftif; picturesque but heated language tß&t he would neither bathe nor till th|£ earth. Then he flung into the kitchen and washed up the breakfast crofkery. The degrading task restored 'him to a truer appreciation of the relative value of things. As he lay in hisysunny nook, craving for tobacco, ho perceived that his' father-in-law '■ wotfld enjoy throwing him over the clij; he made up his mind to rob him %i the pleasure/ At ten o'clock gloomily he fetched a towel, gloomily he batlfed. When he came out of the'sea, which had not proved so'unpleasant, he found that his shirt and evening dress had .disappeared. In their place lay a fisherman's jersey and a pair of rough trousers. He donned them—there was nothing else to do; but he cursed them, for. the jersey tickled the delicate skin of his arms and neck in a fashion excruciating. . As he went wriggling back to the house Forbes met him at the. garden gate and proffered a spade. "Mr Millett's compliments, sir; and will you please dig the patch he has marked out with those four, sticks? He asked me to say tha-t there is no dinner till you've done it," he said. The poet waved aside the proffered spade with a haughty gesture, went up to his bedroom, removed the tjcklinu jersey and lay on his. bed, brooTmg darkly. About ten minutes after twelve ho suddenly heard the still.: small voice of his appetite. He quivered. He knew to what a raging volume' of compelling sound that still, small voice would swell. Ho resinned the hateful jersey, went down into the garden and begun to dig hastily. TLj : patch of garden seemed small enough. Ten minutes. later he was perspiring freely, and the patch had grown larger He. perceived with horror that,his appetite had grown too. The beads of sweat gathered thickly on his brow and he dug madly on.' The sweat, ran down his face and his back began to ache. Whenever he stopped .to rest, his appetite reproached him impatiently. Cursing it with rich, impassioned eloquence, with careful attention to the,.hiot juste, did riot seem to give- its querulous insistence. It was' half-past one when he turned the last spadeful of earth. He was very feeble—only his appetite was ■ really strong and raging—and he was all one villainous ache. Forbes gave him a plateful of* boiled potatoes with his bread and jam, and he perceived that the simple life endowed boiled potatoes with an undreamed-pf and delicious flavor.

That afternoon, as lie lay in Lis sunny nook, the poet for the first time turned the cold light of his reason on to the situation. From the island there was no escape, and-he found himself helpless in the grip of two implacable tyrants — his father-in-law and his appetite. Reflection assured him that his appetite was the more powerful and ruthless of the two; he must bow to it. There was nothing against letting his proud spirit burn; but for the time being it must content itself with burning—it must not direct his action. He abandoned himself to dreams of the horrible vengeance he would take on his father-in-law when once he got free. Vengeance on his appetite was out of the question; it was connected with him too intimately. _ He awoke from these dreams to the painful fact that he was craving for tobacco. It was twenty-eight hours since he had smoked his last cigarette, and he had been accustomed to smoke thirty a day. Then his father-in-law passed within twenty yards of his sunny nook, smoking an excellent cigar. The fragrance of it, floating to the poet on the warm air, seemed divine. He saw the millionaire go down to the harbor, board the launch and set out toward Byehampton. The smell of the cigar still lingered in the poet's nostrils. .It stimulated his fine creative imagination; slowly' his proud spirit turned from dreams to the practical. Forbes, moon-faced and serene, sat fishing from the edge of the cliff at a. point from which he could watch the harbor and the house. The poet rose and strolled'toward the middle of the island, vague memories of the reading of his boyhood thronging his mind. He ■passed from the Tange of the vision of Forbes behind a clump of trees, dropped to the ground and began to crawl toward the house in the stealthy fashion of a red Indian stalking a foe. He did not feel.his grave poetic dignity injured by the grovelling process; he was thinking earnestly of tobacco. Once, indeed, when he'Taised. his head above a low ridge to make sure that Forbes' unhealthy curiosity had not been roused; by his disappearance from his nook, he made a. hideous grimace at the broadx back of that faithful but unconscious servant, a grimace worthier of a small boy than a poet. "When at last the! house was between him and the watcher he rose, and walked swiftly to it. On the sideboard in the dining room stood a-very •'largo cigar box. He raised the lid with trembling fingers. It was nearly full. Be took two cigars—two cigars would never be missed —and hurried to the .door with his booty; but his fine creative imagination, after a rest of nearly three months, had gotten firmly to work. He .stopped and looked at the cigar box, frowning; his eyes wandered round the-room. They fell on a pile of novels. In a flash of genius he combined the books, and the cigars. He returned to the box, measured the height of the cigars in it with his eye carefully and then emptied it. He took three of the novels from the bottom of the pile and put them in the box, filled up the empty space at the end of them with cigars and covered them with layers of cigars till the box was restored, to all seeming, to its original fullness. Nearly fifty cigars were left on the table. He had not nearly enough pockets in which to carry them away; ho opened the -cupboard at the bottom of the sideboard and found in it a biscuitcan with a dozen biscuits in it. He put the biscuits in his trousers pockets, the cigars in the tin and left the house. He took his spade and, keeping the building between himself and Forbes, walked into the interior. Two hundred, yards from the house he buried the tin of eisars at the foot of a pine, in a dry, sandv soil that would not spoil their condition.

Three cigars lie carried avrn,y with him, fetched a. circuit and came back to his sunnj* nook openly and osten&gtiouslv from the direction in which he had 'left it. He lighted one of the cigars with the proud thrill of the successful freebooter —• a prouder thrill, indeed; than that with

which he had handled the first copy of i his first-horn book of poems. His delicacy had been apt to shrink from cigars; he had smoked only cigarettes. He found his father-in-law's cigar a revelation in flavor. It gave him an amazing pleasure; and, as he enjoyed it, he abandoned himself deliberately to a dream of delicate and luxurious feasts. He was surprised and somewhat distressed to find that his fine fancy refused to toy with ortolans and caviar and vintages; it clung fondly to the vision of a very large and extraordinarily vivid beefsteak pie—and with the pie there was beer. At half-past four a gentle reminder from his appetite brought back his wandering fancy from the entrancing pie to the painful'reality. He stayed it with two biscuits—he was learning thrift — and once more considered his plight. It was plainly of no use to kick against the pricks—he had to work and he had to eat simple food. The thing to do was to make the best of these distressing facts. None the less his bondage chafed his proud spirit and he burned to escape. He was resolved to escape; he felt that it would be a bitter blow to his father-in-law. Meantime the thing to do was to improve the food and lighten the work. He pondered these simple problems earnestly. He perceived that a fine creative imagination was a vain thing if it could not create solutions of them. . When he arose next morning he stayed his appetite with two of the stolen biscuits and so was able to give more time to the making of his coffee. He made.it very well. That morning he was longer over his bath, exercising his swimmingy muscles—with a view to escaping—till they ached. Then he dealt with the matter tilling the earth in a masterly fashion. He wasted no time, but as soon as he had bathed began to dig: Whenever his_back betan to ache he rested.. In this way he ug his patch in twice the time but with' half the labor. He was acquiring the stern placidity of the British workman. He -finished it perspiring, but. without ah aching back, and fouhd that the coolness of the sea invited him. He bathed again. Joseph P. Mallett, who was walking'swiftly round the island for the eighth time, observed the action with a faint smile of satisfaction: ■ .As the poet came in to his mid-day dinner his creative imagination suddenly worked and he improved his food. Forbes grilling, a large sole for his master with the nicest skill. He invited the poet to help himself from the saucepan of boiling potatoes, and the poet helped liimself with a liberal hand. - So he came near to the grilling sole. The smell of it was heart-breaking. It acted as a sharp stimulus to his creative imagination. Forbes put the sole on the dish and the-dish-cover over it. Algernon set his plate of potatoes on the table and, with a sharp exclamation ran to the window. "By Jove! That ship's making for the Island! Look! Through that clump of trees!" he cried and dashed out of the door. . , Forbes hurried into the dining room, put the sole on the table, informed the millionaire, of the poet's action, and rushed out of the back door after him. Joseph P. Mallett dashed out; after Forbes. They ran.down to-the harbor; there was no Algernon. They ran up on the cliffs; there was no Algernon. This was hardly to be wondered at, since the poet had gone no farther than • the front porch of the house. Then they perceived that there was no ship. They came back to the house, wondering. ' In the kitchen they found the poet eating boiled potatoes and bread and jam with a pensive air. - "It must have been an optical illusion—the mirage that starving sailors ' see," he said sadly. The millionaire grunted. He had already taken, his morning's exercise, and he found the run before dinner excessive.. He passed on. into the diningroom. From his plate confronted him the bare bones of an exquisitely grilled sole. He rubbed his eyes. No; it was not an optical illusion. He sat down and breathed heavily. Then he said something under his breath with intense conviction. Then he rose, went to the door and roared: "Grill me another sole, Forbes! And see that that confounded thief doesn't steal it!" Then he heard the chuckle of the poet and Slammed the door. That evening, from his sunny nook, Algernon watched, the millionaire and Forbes drag the sea with a livelier interest. ■ It might be that they- fished for him. After having washed up the break-, fast tilings next morning he sought his sunny hook and lighted one of his father-in-law's cigars with a sigh of profound satisfaction. He was halfway through it when his father-in-law came strolling by. The poet assumed a rapt, absorbed air, and went on smoking. The millionaire stopped suddenly and sniffed the ambient air. Then he said: "That's a very good cigar you're smoking." "Yes," said Algernon dreamily. "I always carry a dozen of them sewed up in the lining of my dress coat against emergency." ■ Joseph P. Mallett frowned: "Does it occur to you that you're a confounded liar and thief?" he asked. "To the warrior the spoils,' said the, unruffled poet, and he winked at the master of millions in a manner truly unpoetic: , ■ , Joseph P. Mallett blinked and passed on with an expression of doubt on his heavy face. His son-in-law's character was undoubtedly developing, but hardly on the lines he had expected. That evening, when the accomplished Forbes was milking the Mulling's Island cow, the source of all their milk, the poet asked him to give him a lesson in that rustic art. Forbes gave him the lesson without hesitation; and, since Algernon applied all his mind to learning it, Forbes had good reason to congratulate himself oh the aptness of his pupil. Next morning the early rising poet had a howl of milk fresh and foaming from the cow. Perhaps it was hardly consistent with the simple life that he should have laced it with the whisky of his. sleeping father-in-law, but it was a delicious drink. The grilled sole had stimulated the carnivorous propensities of the poet at once, but it was three days before it stimulated his creative imagination. Then, availing himself of the millionaire's absence on a voyage.to .Byehamptdn, he took a pickaxe, and broke, open the door of the larder. He used a pickaxe very well for a beginner. Three canned tongues and a bottle of olives were his booty. He buried them beside his precious cigars and smoothed the sand very neatly-over the cache. Then, with a thoughtful air, he repaired to a likely spot.five hundred yards away and turned up the soil for a space of four square feet. Then he presented himself before the eyes of the fishing Forbes, coming from the direction of the likely spot and bearing the spade jauntily over his shoulder; When Forbes, with tears in Ins gentle eyes, showed Joseph P. Mallett the broken door of the larder, the millionaire said very dryly: "I shall make a man of him yet." Then he added: "But we must recover those tongues. I will not have him pampered." "I think I can show you where Mr Scrymgcour buried them, sir," said Forbes. ~ , ■„• "Come along.!" said the millionaire briskly. . " ~ - -a Taking a spade apiece they repaired to the quarter of the island whence Forbes had seen the poet come so jauntily. The keen eye of the millionaire presently discovered the upturned earth and he chuckled. They fell to', work with a will. ' They had dug long enough to get into •a pleasant perspiration when the poet approached. He did not offer to help them. He lighted a' cigar, stretched himself with a" languorous air on a piece of soft turf aiid watched them with mild interest. As they grew hotter and hotter his pearefiilness more and more galled them. They said nothing; their triumph could only lie a foot or so deeper. They had dug a really good hole, big enough to contain the three of them without any squeezing, when the poet paid sadly: ~ "I o-ave up hope long before you. "Hope of what?" said the millionaire sharply, wiping the sweat from his crimson brow. "Treasure," said the poet. - If pirates ever did use this island as a lair that looked to me the most likely place for them to bury their booty!" "Pirates! You must be a fool! said the millionaire rather thickly as he stepped out of- the good hole. "Somebody is," said the poet gently. Since fear of its being discovered

made him unwilling to go too often to his cache, the poet made a point of eating a whole tongue at a sitting. He found that his father-in-law's cigars were of a finer flavor than ever after a full meal. It was on the drowsy afternoon of the tenth day that he first missed Elizabeth. As soon as he realised that he was missing Elizabeth he tried to persuade himself that what he really Mrs Singleton-Byng. He could not do so. He wanted beauty and charm, not draperies and culture; and Elizabeth's delightful face and figure presented themselves with extraordinaryvividness to his mind. Once having begun to miss her, once having let the ravishing vision of her present itself vividly to his mind, he was soon craving for her; and the simple life of Mulling's Island took on an appearance of inconceivable baldness. At the end of the thirteenth day he was raging at it even more furiously than lie had done at the beginning. On the fourteenth day his creative imagination got to work , and came to his aid with a plan of escape. . He liad worked hard at his- swimming, since that had seemed the only method of getting away from Mulling's Island.- He worked at it harder than ever and now he could swim...threequarters of a mile at a time. He had also further hardened his. muscles by digging his morning patch of garden as quickly as he could dig. Very clumsily he built a little'raft, about three feet square, out of the case in which the provisions had come to the island. His boyish-idea was to use it as a support in getting across to. the mainland. To his inexperience the method seemed admirable.- ; When it was finished he carried, it down to the shore and hid it among the •bushes. P. Mallett had observed his son-in-law's carpentering with some wonder. He could not, conceive what he would-be at. At one o'clock the next morning he was awakened by a noise in the kitchen as Algernon, in passing; through it, brushed a jug from the table. The millionaire rose, found the poet's 'room 'empty and the back door open; he hurried down to the harbor. He reached it in time to see Algernon take, to the water with his raft, resolved to reach Elizabeth or die in the attempt. Joseph P. Mallet went back to the house,, roused Forbes, bade him light the kitchen fire, and dressed... ' Then he set out in his launch in search of Algernon. He was half an hour finding him. Without revealing his presence, he let the. launch drift along thirty yards behind i him. The white shoulders of the poet kept rising above the crest of an oily swell. He was moving very slowly. Half an hour later the millionaire drove the launch abreast of the swimmer and bade him. stop playing the'fool and come aboard. In the chill light of the false dawn Algernon's face ,was very white; 'he was chilled to the marrow, and nearly done, but he cursed his father-in-law faintly and ploughed grimly and feebly on. The millionaire let the launch' drop back a few yards and watched the struggle with the liveliest interest. A quarter of an hour later the poet's breath began to sob out of his lungs and he was scarcely kicking out at all. He let himself drift for a while, resting. The morning breeze from the land was whipping up the sea and it kept breaking over him. He started to kick out feebly again; then a wave .smothered him, tore the raft from his chilled fingers and he went under. The millionaire gripped him by the hair as he sagged past the launch and hauled him in over the stern. For two or three minutes it looked as if he had hauled him in too late, but he drained some of the water out of him and pumped away at his arms till he got him breathing again. Then he poured a stiff dose of.whisky into him, rolled him in a rug and drove the launch at full speed to the island, hoisted him on his shoulders and carried him to the house. The kitchen fire was blazing, and with the help of Forbes he rubbed the chilled body to a glow. It was ten minutes before the poet was revived to the point of cursing them for their roughness. Then they filled him up with hot whisky and quinine,- carried him upstairs and put him to bed. He slept like a log and awoke comfortable, but stiff, and very hungry. He found himself in a much larger bedroom and saw on the floor of it the portmanteau he had taken to Twinkmouth; the millionaire must have fetched it from the inn on one of his voyages in the launch. He dressed stiffly in soft'and luxurious raiment and came downstairs. . Forbes said that his master wished to speak to him. The poet pulled himself together and entered the dining room with a truculent air. "Good morning," said the millionaire suavely. "I've been thinking that after the fight you made to get to the mainland last night you ought to be put on a man's diet and have a sole with your meals." "A sole! What's the good of a sole? Two soles," said the poet truculently. "Two soles are excessive in the simple life," said the millionaire sadly; 'but just for this once you may have two. In the future you will have to help catch them if you want to eat The poet did not thank him; he went and ate two soles. Also he told Forbes that he was to have a bottle of beer with them. This was not true, but he got it. . . , . ' . .. When the millionaire started on nis morning walk the air was fragrant with the excellent-cigar his son-in-law was smoking. It was at least the twentieth cigar the millionaire had' seen between his lips. It passed his understanding. He was sure that no one but himself lessened the number of cigars m his box; he kept a wary eye on them. He pondered the problem, but could not find its solution. _ All that day the poet's longing for Elizabeth grew*stronger and stronger. The longing for her and his delightful visions of her filled his mind with beautiful phrases and images. After his midday dinner he borrowed a pencil and paper, without asking for them? from the study of his father-in-law. In his sunnv hook he began to write.< Never had he worked under so strong an inspiration;" never had he found it so hard to satisfy himself. -. That evening he helped , work the drag-net; he' permitted himself the luxury of cursing his father-in-law for his slowness on four several occasions. Twice his father-in-law, stung, retorted; twice he only grinned. - The eveuj ihg was balmy, and as the poet strolled along the cliffs after suppeT the longing for Elizabeth,- her tenderness, and her kisses had grown almost to torture. He racked his' brains fiercely for a plan' of escape. . Suddenly he slapped his thigh j .he could not go to Elizabeth; •Elizabeth must come/to him! : ■ The instrument to bring her to him iwap plainly Forbes: Forbes was the in his prison. Forbes sometimes voyaged to Byehampton in.the r launch, leaving the millionaire on guard. As he went to bed the poet gave that accomplished valet a very sinister look; He would try fair means; but if those failed he would assuredly try foul. Forbes must .be bent or broken to his purpose. " The next morning he approached Forbes on the matter of posting a letter .to Elizabeth. He offered a large bribe. Forbes proved'incorruptible.- In the afternoon Algernon spoiled a good clothesline by cutting six foot off it. From his sunny nook he watched his father-in-law start for Byehampton in the,launch; when it had grown a mere speck on the horizon he suddenly became a red Indian. Forbes was fishing peacefully, dreaming his dreams, when he was thrown . forward on his face in, a very startling fashion and the poet sat down on him. Then, somewhat awkwardly but securely, Forbes' hands were bound behind his hack and the poet turned him oyer. Forbes looked at him in a sickly fashion. "Will,you post that letter for me the next time you go ashore?" said tho poet. "No, sir!" said Forbes. . "Do you kno.w what the bastinado is?" said the poet. • "I can't say that I do, sir," said F ° raeS - .' „ •-. XI. "It's an Oriental practice," said the poet darkly. ' ,„,_,,, With that he took off Forbes' shoes and displayed a stout switch. "Itr ought to be a bamboo," he said; "but here goes!" And forthwith he began to belabor the soles of the unfortunate valet. Forbes kicked and twisted and threw his feet this way and that; hut the stinging switch found them. At. the end of twenty strokes the paused and said : "Will you post that letter?" "It'll be the ruin of me!" groaned Forbes. "I shall have to leave Mr Mallett's service."

"If you do I'll take you into my own. I've formed the highest opinion of your abilities. You'd form the perfect buffer between me and the trivial tilings that waste life," said the poet generously. "I'll be a sad come-down, sir," groaned Forbes. "A come-down! To serve a poet instead of a millionaire! You unappreciativc hound!" cried the poet indignantly, wanted was the inspiring converse of and he cut viciously at the valet's soles.

"No, no, sir! Not a come-down! But very different," howled Forbes. "I should think so," said the poet in a somewhat mollified tone. "Are you going to post that letter for me?" "Well, sir, seeing that you have the whip-'and of me, so to speak, I may as : well promise now as later," said: Forbes. . -.

"You show your good sense," : said Algernon. "I must certainly take you into my.service.", '.•'-'.' With that he unbound him and, leaving him rubbing his soles tenderly,: he betook himself to .the milhonaire's study and wrotethe letter. It was a-'..gboa-though not a true letter. He-set forth his-plight in pathetic terms, but' with a manly restraint. He painted his sufferings with a masterly out exaggerating hand. He conveyed the impression that he was still enduring starvation and ill-treatment with manly fortitude buoyed up only by the hope of being one day re-united to. his dear Elizabeth. Any one reading it could not fail to picture him as a pale, shattered and emaciated wretch, to the last degree unlike the tanned and hardy young man who plied the pen. But the bulk of the letter dealt with his sufferings at being parted from her; his ' unceasing longing for her. In that part, 6ince lie was writing in all sincerity, ho surpassed himself; it was the cry of passion of a genius. , - - . He enclosed the poem he had written. As he put one of his father-in-law's stamps on the envelope he heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction.,

After supper that evening, as he took a. cigar from the box, the millionaire's finger touched something hard underneath it. He looked into the matter, found the novels and swore softly; then he laughed and lighted the cigar. While he was thus engaged Forbes came in and gave notice that he would leave his service. "So Mr Scrymgeour has at last succeeded in bribing you, has he?" asked the millionaire.

"No, sir," said Forbes with dignity. "It was the bastinado. Leastways-that was what he called it; but really it's lamming you on the soles of your feet with a stick. It's best to give, in!" "I should think it was," said the millionaire, laughing. "I suppose he's given you a letter to post. Where is it?"

"But I've, promised to post it. It's to Mrs Scrimgeour, sir." "You can't post it unless I let you. and I sha'n't let you unless I approve of it. I'll give it back to you, anyway," said the millionaire. "Bring the kettle too."

Forbes brought the kettle and the letter. The millionaire steamed it open and read it. Twice he remarked softly, "The infernal young liar!" Then :, he said, "I suppose that all's fair in love, and this looks like it." Then he.read the poem. ' 'By Jove, this is the real thing—at last!" he cried. "You can post the letter, Forbes. Thesimple life has done its work."

"Yes, sir," said Forbes in hearty assent. "Take the launch and get it posted at once. Don't let him know I've seen it." _ "No, sir," said Forbes.

During his father-in-law's absence on his morning walk Algernon borrowed his field-glasses from the study. At five o'clock, sure thatf Elizabeth, would take a special train, he was watching the sea toward Byehampton with all his eyes. At a-quarter to six his heart leaped with joy to see that a steam-launch two miles out was making straight for the island. He walked down to the harbor and waited behind a screen of trees. Elizabeth landed and came quickly toward the house. When she was abreast of his screen the poet showed himself. Elizabeth saw a bronzed and somewhat bearded stranger; then she saw that it was Algernon and ran to him with a little cry. She was in a whirl of emotion, but she was dimly aware that there was little of the shattered and emaciated wretch in the vigor with which he hugged her. Presently she loosed herself from his bearlike clasp with some difficulty, very pink, her eyes shining with ears of joy, and said in a very stern voice: ''Where's my father? -J-want to talk to'him." "Oh, bother your father! I want to talk to you! I want to tell you what a fool I was and how I've missed you." "No. I want to talk to him!" cried Elizabeth, the light of hattle in her eyes. The poet slipped her arm through"his and they walked to the house. As they reached it Joseph P. Mallett came out. Elizabeth did not waste any greetings on him. She cried out furiously: "How dare you treat poor Algernon so —wrecking his health' and constitution!"

' 'Poor Ananias! Look at the wreck!" cried the millionaire with some heat."The sight of Elizabeth has restored me a lot," said the poet without blinking- , "You know how delicate and sensitive he is!" cried Elizabeth.

"Delicate and sensitive! You should see him at meals!" howled the millionaire.

"You promised me you'd treat him like a lamb," said Elizabeth. "You can't treat a wolf like a lambi" cried the millionaire.

"And now you're traducing him. It's shameful of you!" cried Elizabeth. ' 'Traducing him! What did he do with the pickaxe? . "Who bastinadoed Forbes?" cried the millionaire.

"Of course' "Algernon would show spirit!" said Elizabeth. "Spirit! Spirit! If ever T came across a gall—a cold, six-hundred-horse-power gall—it's your blamed poet's I" "Come,,come;,it's no goocl recriminating. Perhaps there were faults on both sides," said the poet amiably. "Perhaps!" sneered the millionaire. "The important thing, is that you've rescued me, Elizabeth," said the poet equably. . "I don't bear ■ malice —now that I'm rescued." "I do —for you!" cried Elizabeth. "And. I'm willing to let bygones be by-gones," said the poet generously. . "Oh, are you??' asked the milliohr aire. "And what I think is that this island, with'sufficient food, would do Elizabeth good. She looks pale," said the poet. "I'm afraid it's my fault," he added, in a tone of compunction; "but my idea is that we should have another honeymoon here." . "I haven't any clothes with me! cried Elizabeth."I'll lend you some of mine," said the poet generously. "Algernon!" cried the pmk Elizabeth. "You see, you'd be rather in the way, sir," the poet went on calmly. "The devil I should!" cried Joseph P; Mallett. "Well, a third person is always a third person," said the poet. "What! You'd turn me off my own island!", roared Joseph P. Mallett. "I think that we'd rather you went," said the poet. "And you might leave us Forbes to- cook for us and the launch to get things from Byehampton. You could go away in the one which "brought Elizabeth." ■ ' .'*,,, Joseph P. Mallett gasped. "A gall! Did I say a gall?" he muttered. . "I was only putting it to you,"-said the poet, c ..'•" , , • "Really, after.the 'way you've treated- poor Algernon, it's the least you ■can do," said Elizabeth warmly. Joseph P. Mallett's powerful but tottering mind recovered itself a little arid; took its usual firm grip on essentials. -A course of the- simple life together/might be the best thin 3 in the world for the re-united pair. He turned on his heel and flung into the house; he flung into the dining-room; then he flung into his study. The poet and Elizabeth went into the diningroom. Five minutes later the millionaire came out of the house and walked to the landing place. He had taken his seat in the launch which had brought Elizabeth and had bidden the driver take him to Byehampton when loud shouts gave them pause. The poet was tearing down to the beach. In his hand fluttered a white sheet of paper. It was a telegram form. He gave it to the driver of the launch with half a sovereign and

-begged him to despatch it as soon as he reached -By eh amp ton. • Theft he turned to his father-in-law. It's those cigars of yours—l like thorn ■abetter than cigarettes. You've only left about ten in the box," ho. said, •breathlessly, but reproachfully. Joseph.-P. Mallet's, face looked too. email - lor his eyes. He said thickly, but sourly: "I'was hoping to make a man of you. I never expected to produce the limit." The poet waved his hand {irneiously "It's what comes of tampering with genius," he said.