"That sketch. 'Over the Fence.' See.

The whole Harvey family crowded round the paper. Mrs. Harvey kissed her son. "It's splendid, dear." Lance looked at the paper. "Over the Fence" by Lancelot Harvey. . . . Undoubtedly his Mr. Harvey waved the paper.

"Done it, my boy; done it! There it is-see it, mother. 'Over the Fence' by Lance Harvey," he read. "That's our boy, Margaret. He's over the fenceover the literary fence, eh, Lance?"

Lance looked as if he thoroughly believed it. "Lance-where's Hall Caine, eh?"

"Oh! go along, father."

"Now, George!" said Mrs. Harvey.

"Where's Marie Corelli, eh?" continued Mr. Harvey. "What about your Bensons and Conrads and Le Queux and Oppenheims, and Wards and Hewletts and er-come on, Lance-more."

Lance smiled.

"Conan Doyle and Max Pemberton and "Yes, your Conan Doyles and Pembertons and Bennetts, and Jacobs-es-es-es, and er. . . . This is the beginning: it's only the beginning. All things have a beginning. 'Over the Fence' was the first sketch of that remarkably talented author, Lancelot Harvey. No! No! No swelled head, Lance, eh? No nonsense of that kind. No side! No swagger! Something attempted, something done has earned the right to do better, eh? We must be sober: we'll criticise, we'll pick holes, we'll show how feeble this is. We will now show that this excellent little sketch might have been improved if er

"George!" This from Mrs. Harvey.

"Well, Margaret!"

"Don't start criticising so soon."

"No, dear. No. Of course not. We didn't mean that, did we, Lance. We were only trying to pull the swollen head back to the normal, that's all, eh? No, that stupid hole-picking without good-picking criticism is no good. Good and bad we'll find, eh, Lance, and improve on the good and wipe out the bad? But, 'Over the Fence' by Lancelot Harvey." He looked at his son.

Lance was looking into the future with the eyes of youth.

CHAPTER V

WHERE LOVE IS NOT

TH

HOMAS EWINS carried on his courtship with Gertrude Hollins in brisk and methodical fashion. He responded to the engagement in a way, feeling a male kind of person owning a female, and willing to do the courting, the purring and caressing— till the marriage. But even during the courting period, he was never to be relied on if business intervened. Mrs. Hollins knew what business was-at least so she said, and merely meant she knew that all the money she enjoyed came from business, and the great thing, though not everything in her opinion, in life was business. But her service to the God of Affairs suited Thomas in many ways. For one, he got out of as much spending during the engagement as possible. "What's the good o' wastin' money?" he used to say. "Do us good after, eh?" He did all kinds of mean tricks that annoyed sometimes, and at others merely excited contempt.

Yet he could be genial. He had vitality of a kind and could rouse this family of women folk by his presence. He had a great money sense and could always behave in a fairly accurate way to get money if money was to be got. Mrs. Hollins and her daughters wanted pleasing that was all. A little attention, some flattery, not much expenditure of money, and the thing was done. Thomas excelled as a flatterer. He could

ladle it out and laugh in a genial kind of way at the same time. He could tell Mrs. Hollins with fine conviction that her husband would never have got on, never have made the fortune he had, if it had not been for her. Of course she believed it, and perhaps it was true. It may be that Ewins believed it also, but as he had occasionally called Mrs. Hollins a "fool" and worse, one has doubts. But nobody would have questioned his sincerity during the flattery operations. The person being flattered was hopeless as a critic; but even Martha was taken in. She, too, was brought under the spell at times. After she had made some sensible remark, nothing extraordinary, but something with which Thomas agreed, he would say, "You're right right there. You should ha' bin' runnin' a business with a 'ead like yours. should that."

You

Martha had to swallow it, shrewd as she was. Mrs. Hollins felt the reflected flattery and said: "My daughters can do anything that women can do, Thomas-in reason I mean, anything about a house or a home. They'll make good wives; they've common sense, and I've always taken care to let them see how I managed and to give them of the best-the very best. You see that pair of slippers Martha's wearing?" Thomas observed them.

"A pound I gave for them. A pound-didn't I, Martha? And they're only slippers bear in mind. But what I say is, if you want a thing, have a good one. You do that, Thomas, in your own home. See this table cloth?" Mrs. Hollins felt the beautiful white damask. Thomas felt it, too, for he was always capable of taking an interest in the intrinsic value of things.

"H'm," he said.

"Good, isn't it?" said Mrs. Hollins.

"Aye-feels all right."

"Three guineas I paid for that; three guineas, didn't I, Gertrude?"

"Yes. During the sale, too."

"Yes, during the sale. But that cloth will last out half a dozen ordinary cloths. Easy, won't it?" She appealed to Gertrude again.

"Oh! Yes."

"And we've put it on in your honour, Thomas." "You shouldn't 'ave done that," he said. "Any old thing 'll do for me.”

"It won't. It won't that-will it, Gertrude?"

Gertrude smiled as if she were really too prejudiced to reply.

And then the good-natured Mrs. Hollins would give Thomas a supper that made him say "By Gum! This is a spread."

"We can afford it," said Mrs. Hollins. "We always have the best of everything, Thomas. We mayn't be titled people but we know what's what in the way of home comforts."

Thomas was quite happy in this environment, for it suggested money, without the difficulties of fighting for it. Mrs. Hollins was generous. She liked talking, but what did that matter when she was so willing to part.

Gertrude was satisfied with the engagement. She was to be married, that was the principal and salient fact; and as she had feared greatly that there were grave probabilities of her becoming an "old maid" the engagement brought its own reward. As for Thomas.