Her Ladyship's Elephant

IN WHICH THERE ARE TWO CLAIMANTS FOR ONE DINNER

The village clock was on the stroke of one when the little procession drew up before the door of the principal inn in the main square of a small town on the road between Salisbury and Southampton.

Scarsdale had been surprised to find how little excitement they had created in their progress through the countryside; but then he had chosen the most unfrequented roads, avoiding villages as he would a pestilence. Man and beast must be fed somewhere, however, and, according to Tom, the elephant was giving no uncertain signs that he wanted his dinner. So, against his better judgment, Scarsdale had turned aside into a neighbouring town, whence, after an hour's rest and refreshment, he determined to push on that afternoon to a quiet inn he knew of, near Fording Bridge, and thence to Christchurch the following morning.

Both he and Mrs. Allingford had been as quiet as mice during the last hour; indeed, the novel position in which they found themselves inclined them rather to thought than conversation.

Their entrance into the town was effected more easily than could have been hoped for; though, in some unknown manner, a rumour of their coming seemed to have preceded them: for a crowd had collected along the main street, which cheered them vociferously, under the mistaken impression that they were the proprietors of a circus. No travelling show that wound its course through those country lanes had ever possessed such an attraction, and the people moved away after they had passed, full of wonder at the appearance of this strange monster among them, and regret that with such a beginning there was nothing more to follow.

Once they had come to a halt, they were surrounded by a curious crowd, and Scarsdale lost no time in entering into explanations with the landlord of the inn, who came hurrying out to receive his novel guests.

It was at this point that their troubles first began; for mine host, while he professed to furnish entertainment for man and beast, was dubious concerning the monster which it was proposed to quarter on him so unexpectedly. The lady and gentleman, their coachman, horses, and even the cockney mahout were more than welcome; but elephants were not in his line of business. He didn't know if he could give satisfaction; feared his accommodations were not sufficiently ample; would like to oblige, but had the reputation of his house to maintain, &c., &c.

When Scarsdale happened, however, casually to mention that it was Lady Melton's elephant a change came over the face of affairs, of which he was not slow to take advantage.

Her ladyship was well known throughout the county, while her reputation for severity had a still wider circulation, and the landlord was in abject fear of her, though, nevertheless, obstinately determined to have none of the beast.

The subject of all this altercation had meantime appropriated the public horse-trough to his exclusive use for drinking and bathing purposes, and was enjoying himself in consequence, which was more than could be said of his rider, who shared unwillingly in his ablutions.

"Give 'im the word to sit down, sir. S'welp me, I'll be drownded with 'is tricks!" cried Tom.

"I don't speak his infernal language," returned Scarsdale testily; "that's your business."

"I've told 'im all I know, sir, an' it's no use."

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to stay up and get wet."

"Couldn't yer 'elp me down, sir? Quit that, yer 'eathen!" as he dodged a shower of water.

"Certainly not," replied Scarsdale. "You can't leave him riderless in a public place."

Then, turning to the landlord, who stood by in sore perplexity, aimlessly rubbing his hands, he continued:

"It's a beastly shame that a gentleman can't take a lady's elephant out for—exercise without running up against all this nonsense in the first little hamlet he comes across! One would almost think you had never seen an elephant before."

The landlord, whose eyes had up to this time been fairly bulging with curiosity, now declared himself desolated at such an uncalled-for suspicion.

"Perhaps it would be better if the gentleman were to send for a constable."

Mine host neglected to add that he had done so on his own responsibility in his first burst of agitation.

But Scarsdale, noting the excellent effect which his rating had produced on the landlord, determined that he should have some more of it.

"If you are afraid," he said, "of damaging your ramshackle old inn, perhaps you'll consent to give my elephant his dinner in the square?"

Mine host rolled up his eyes at this new phase of the question.

"I suppose," continued Scarsdale, "that the dignity of this 'tuppenny ha'penny' town won't be seriously impaired by his presence for an hour in your elegant plaza!"

The last portion of this speech was lost on the landlord, because he did not know what a "plaza" was; but it sounded imposing, and he hastened to assure his guest that the town would feel honoured by the elephant's presence, though he would have to procure a permit from the mayor. Should he show him the way to that functionary's house?

This, however, proved to be unnecessary, as the mayor himself was present in the crowd, a pompous, fussy little man, full of the importance of his office. Lady Melton's name, which he had heard mentioned in connection with the affair, acted as a charm, and brought him bustling forward to shake Scarsdale's hand, assure him that no permit was required, and snub the innkeeper.

"Anything I can do for a relation of her ladyship's—I think you said a relation?" he inquired.

Scarsdale had not said anything of the kind, but unwillingly admitted that he was her nephew. Upon receiving this intelligence the mayor positively beamed, called Scarsdale "your lordship," and became most solicitous after Lady Melton's health. Her nephew gravely assured him that he might make his mind easy on that score, as his aunt was in the best of health, and that as soon as he returned to Melton Court (a most uncertain date, he thought grimly) he would be sure to convey to her his kind inquiries.

His worship on this was positively effusive, declared himself devoted to Scarsdale's interests, and insisted that he and "her ladyship," indicating Mrs. Allingford—another slip which his companion did not trouble to correct—must do him the honour of dining with Mrs. Mayor and himself.

Scarsdale was now beginning to fear that he was doing it rather too well, and hastened to excuse "her ladyship" and himself, declaring that they could not think of trespassing on his worship's hospitality, and that they would be quite comfortable at the inn, if only the elephant might be permitted to have his dinner in the square.

The mayor declared that it was just what he most desired; but would his lordship kindly indicate of what that meal must consist?

This was a poser; but Scarsdale plunged recklessly on, for, having once entered the broad road of deception, there was no turning back, and he was surprised himself at the facility with which he could romance.

"That is just the trouble of taking charge of other people's pets," he said, with shameless indifference to the demands of truth. "I'm sure I don't know much more about the brute than you do; and as his mahout was away when we started out, I had to take one of the grooms. What does Jehoshaphat eat, Tom?"

"Hay, sir—me lud, I mean," answered Tom, falling in with the humour of the situation.

"Oh! hay, of course," said Scarsdale.

"How much, your lordship?" queried the mayor.

"How much? Confound it! how should I know? Do you take me for an elephant trainer?" A remark which nearly reduced his worship to chaos; but Scarsdale, relenting, added:

"Say five or six tons—I don't know."

"But it is not easy, my lord, to procure such an amount at short notice," expostulated the official.

"Oh, then, get him a waggon-load or two as a first course, and we'll find something else a little later."

"It shall be procured at once. I—er—trust your lordship will not take it amiss, since you will not dine with me, if I offer you a glass of—shall we say champagne?"

"With pleasure," said Scarsdale.

"And her ladyship?" looking towards the carriage.

Mrs. Allingford bowed, and the mayor whispered a few words in mine host's ear.

Just at that moment, as Scarsdale was drawing his first easy breath, feeling at last that things were going smoothly, the very worst contretemps that could possibly happen occurred. Two dusty figures shambled around the corner of a neighbouring street into the square, and one of them in a high-pitched voice, that was distinctly heard by every member of the crowd, exclaimed:

"Hi, there! What are you doing with my elephant?"

Scarsdale swung round to face the newcomers, a premonition of coming evil strong upon him, though a careful inspection assured him that he knew them not; yet conviction hang in every note of that challenge.

They were, in a word, the owner of elephants and the unregenerate Dick.

From early dawn they had made their way across country, in as straight a line as possible from Winchester to Salisbury, sometimes on foot and sometimes in such conveyances as they could hire from place to place; but ever buoyed up by hope—hope of finding that which was lost; hope of restoring elephants to their rightful owners; hope of clearing a brother's name. And here, unexpectedly, they had come upon the object of their search in the hands of total strangers.

"Who the devil are you?" cried Scarsdale hotly, scenting danger, and determined to face the worst at once. "I don't know you."

"I'm Richard Allingford," said the larger of the two men, pushing forward till he faced the bewildered Englishman.

At this point Scarsdale, whose coolness alone could have saved the situation, lost his head. His temper, which had been severely tried by the vicissitudes of the day, gave way in the presence of the man whose escapades had caused him such needless suffering and indignity, and, regardless of results, he spoke his mind.

"So you're Richard Allingford, are you? Then allow me to tell you that you are the prettiest scoundrel that I've run across in a long time! Curse you! Do you know I've spent two days, this week, in Winchester jail on your account?"

A broad grin broke over Richard's face.

"I guess you must be Scarsdale," he said. "But what in thunder are you doing with my brother's elephant?"

"It's mine!" arose the shrill voice of his companion. "I tell you he stole it from me!"

This was too much for Mrs. Allingford, and, to make a bad matter worse, she cried from the carriage:

"The Consul did not steal the elephant! It is his property, and I'm his wife!"

A voice from the crowd chimed in:

"But 'e said it was 'er ladyship's helephant!"

The mayor's face was a study in its various shades of suspicion—anger at being, as he very naturally supposed, duped; and certainty of the duplicity of all concerned, as the contradictory conversation continued. And there is no knowing how quickly he might have precipitated the final catastrophe, if the elephant had not chosen this opportunity for creating a diversion on his own account, which, for the time being, distracted every one's thoughts. He had had, it will be remembered, a very light breakfast, which only served to whet the edge of his appetite. It therefore took him but a short time to locate the whereabouts of a lad who, emerging from the inn with an appetising dinner of bacon and greens arranged in a basket balanced on his head, stood gaping on the outskirts of the crowd, unmindful of the cooling viands. Some playful breeze must have wafted the savoury odour of cabbage to the elephant's nostrils; for suddenly, and without previous warning, flinging his trunk in the air with a joyous trumpet, he pounded down the road, nearly unseating his rider, and scattering the crowd to right and left.

"Wait for me when you get to Christchurch!" Scarsdale called to Tom as the latter shot past him, and then joined in the rush which followed close on the elephant's heels, the mayor and the landlord well to the fore; while Mrs. Allingford's driver, who was only human, increased the confusion by whipping up his horses and joining in the chase.

Ahead of the excited beast and the noisy throng which followed it, holding on like grim death to his dinner-basket, fled the worse-scared boy that had ever been seen in that town. Fortunately the chase was of short duration, for the cubicle of the telegraph-clerk at the railway station was just ahead, and offered a ready refuge. Into it flew the lad, dinner and all, and slammed the door, just in time to escape from the elephant's curling trunk.

The beast, despoiled of his meal, circled the building trumpeting with rage, and finally took up a position across the rails, where he stood guard, prepared to fall upon any one who should venture out.

All the station attendants and officials were now added to the crowd which swarmed about the elephant, and the business of the town practically came to a standstill.

The station-master only added to the excitement by declaring that a train for Salisbury was due, and that the line must be cleared; while the telegraph-clerk announced from an upper storey that wild horses, let alone elephants, would not drag him forth from the shelter of his office, and the blubbering of the unfortunate boy made a monotonous accompaniment to his speech. The mayor blustered, the navvies swore, Tom addressed floods of unintelligible jargon to the obstinate beast, and, as a last resort, Scarsdale coaxed and wheedled him in very defective Hindustani. But it was all useless; not an inch would the elephant budge, and no one in all that assemblage was clever enough to think of giving him the telegraph-clerk's dinner.

In the midst of this confusion, a shrill whistle was heard in the distance, and some one with a clearer head than the rest cried out to "set the signals against the train"—a suggestion which was at once acted upon, and in a moment more the engine drew up, panting, within a dozen feet of the elephant, who was so intent on the contents of the cubicle that he never noticed its arrival.

As a general thing, it is the American tourist who alights from a train on no provocation, while his English cousin is content to sit quiet, and leave the affairs of the line in the hands of the company. In this case, however, some subtle sense of the unusual obstacle seemed to have communicated itself to the passengers; for no sooner had the engine halted than heads were thrust out of every window, and the greatest excitement prevailed.

"I don't know if Scarsdale and my wife are here," said Allingford, who, in company with Carrington and Mrs. Scarsdale, occupied one of the forward carriages, "but there is her ladyship's elephant!"

"You're right," cried his fair companion, taking his place at the window. Then, as she caught sight of Scarsdale, she exclaimed "St. Hubart!" and pushing open the door, jumped out, and fled down the line.

"By Jove! that's my wife!" exclaimed the Consul, fleeing after her, and upsetting a porter in his haste.

From a distance Carrington saw a confused mingling of four persons, and sighed as he caught himself wondering if he would ever be fool enough to do that sort of thing in public.

As he slowly approached them he heard scraps of their conversation.

"By the way, Allingford," Scarsdale was saying, "I brought you back your elephant, which it seems you were careless enough, in the hurry of departure, to leave behind you at Melton Court. I hope you are properly grateful."

"Oh, it isn't mine," replied the Consul; "it belongs to her Ladyship."

"Well, she said it was yours," returned her nephew.

"Ah, that was merely her excessive amiability," said Allingford.

"It had not struck me in that light before," replied Scarsdale. "Anyway, I've brought it back to you, and a nice time I've had of it."

"Did you pilot it all the way from Melton Court?" queried the Consul.

"I did," replied the Englishman, "through the main streets of this town; that is where my Indian training stood me in good stead; but it has ruined my character—most of the inhabitants look on me with suspicion."

"Was your holding up of our train intentional?"

"No," said Scarsdale regretfully, "it wasn't. There are lots of damages to pay, I assure you."

"You must settle them with Lady Melton."

"But what am I to do with the beast?"

"My dear fellow," returned the Consul, "I've been your wife's devoted slave for the last two days, and I have restored her safe and sound to your arms, but I really can't undertake to manage your aunt's elephants into the bargain."

"But at least you might advise me."

"Turn him over to Cassim."

"To whom?"

"Why, to his own mahout, the little brown man who is dancing round him now. I discovered him tearing his hair at Southampton station, where he was left by mistake yesterday, and brought him along."

"Then for heaven's sake make him get his beast off the line!" cried Scarsdale, dragging Allingford up to the native keeper.

"My lord desireth his mid-day meal, and the sahib of the watch-tower hath it within," explained that functionary.

"Tell his lordship that he'll have a great deal better dinner if he will go back to the square," said Allingford.

Just what the mahout said to the elephant will never be known, but it proved convincing: for, with a grunt of dissatisfaction, the beast consented to retrace his steps.

"And now that we have settled this little matter," said the Consul, "there is nothing left for us but to express our unbounded gratitude to—well, to the elephant for reuniting us all, and start once more on our honeymoons; for which this train is mighty convenient."

"I have a word to say about that," cried the mayor. "I'm by no means satisfied about the ownership of this elephant. I've been given to understand that it belongs to Lady Melton. Is this so?"

"Yes," said the Consul and Mr. and Mrs. Scarsdale.

"No," said Mrs. Allingford, Carrington, Tom, and the original owner, in one and the same breath.

"I say, Bob, did you steal it after all?" queried the graceless Richard.

"I took it in payment of a debt," replied his brother hotly.

"Only twenty pounds!" groaned the elephant man. "It's as good as a steal!"

"And I gave it to Lady Melton," continued the Consul, "in payment for my board and lodging."

"And she gave it to me," said Mrs. Allingford.

"I lost my lord at the place of docks," wailed the mahout.

"'E 'ired me to ride hit," cried Tom, indicating Scarsdale.

"And what right have you to it, sir?" blustered the mayor, turning to that gentleman.

"I don't know," replied Scarsdale.

"I consider this most unsatisfactory," continued his worship. "I think I may define the actions of those who have had a hand in this affair as—ahem!—contradictory and open to question. I shall telegraph Lady Melton, and pending her reply I must detain you all as suspicious characters."

So it came to pass that the nine, gathered together in the chief parlour of the inn, with a constable on duty, awaited for some hours a response to the mayor's telegram. It arrived finally, embodied in the person of Aunt Eliza, who had gone to Melton Court that morning, and was now fresh from an interview with the mayor, which had resulted in the freedom of all concerned.

The old lady looked the couples over through her eye-glasses, and gave vent to an expressive "Humph!"

To her niece alone did she deign to express herself more fully, nor did she scruple to mince her words.

"Well, Mabel," she remarked, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself. I gave you a first-class recommendation only two days ago, as being well fitted to plan and carry out a honeymoon, and look what a mess you've made of it! Where did you come from last?"

"From Winchester," replied her niece, "where I was looking for my husband, who had been arrested for impersonating Mr. Allingford's brother," and she pointed to Dick, who joined the group on hearing his name mentioned.

"What business have you to be holding a public office, with a brother like that?" Miss Cogbill demanded sternly of the Consul; but noting his evident discomfiture, she had the grace to add:

"You're by no means a fool, however, barring your habit of losing things. That deed of gift you presented to Lady Melton was a clever stroke of business, and has helped you all out of a bad hole."

"Have you seen her ladyship? What did she say?" cried the Consul.

"She said a good deal," replied Aunt Eliza. "Naturally she was pretty mad, for the beast had done a heap of damage, but she was bound to admit you weren't to blame for its getting loose, and, as I pointed out to her, you had a right to pay for your board and lodging if you chose, though, from the looks of her ramshackle old place, I thought you'd given more than the accommodation was worth. Besides which there were grievances and plenty on your side of the question. By her own showing she hadn't been decently civil to you, and had turned over that monster to your deserted and defenceless wife, and cast my nephew adrift, and tried to send my niece home with the butler. Her ladyship saw the justice of my remarks. She means well, but her training's against her. When I came to the elephant, though, I struck a snag, for she gave me to understand that she'd turned it off the place and never wanted to hear of it again. 'Now, your ladyship,' says I, 'turning an elephant adrift in the world isn't like casting your bread upon the waters; you're bound to find it before many days.' And I hadn't more than got the words out of my mouth when in came that telegram from the mayor, saying that traffic was blocked on the railway in both directions, and nine people arrested, all along of that beast. Her ladyship's lawyer," continued Aunt Eliza, indicating a gentleman of unmistakably legal appearance who had followed her into the room, "backed me up by pointing out that the deed of gift was good, and the elephant her property, and that she'd be obliged to pay for any damage it might do; after which she climbed down from her ancestral tree quick enough, and was willing to listen to reason. So here I am, and here is the lawyer; and now, if you please, we will attend to business."

This she proceeded to do, and in an amazingly short space of time, with the authority of the lawyer, had settled the scruples of the mayor; received a release of indebtedness from the Consul, who willingly surrendered his papers, declaring that he had had "more than twenty pounds' worth of fun out of the elephant"; and transferred the documents to the lawyer, with instructions to sell the beast to the original consignees at Southampton, and to remit the purchase-money to the elephant man, less the twenty pounds for damages, which, she added, "Just cancels his debt to the Consul, making him square on the transaction."

The lawyer patted his hands, saying:

"Very well argued, Miss Cogbill."

"Lady Melton," said Aunt Eliza, turning to Mr. and Mrs. Scarsdale and Mr. and Mrs. Allingford, "has authorised me to say, on her behalf, that she overlooks and regrets the events of the last few days, and wishes them to be forgotten. In token of which she requests you four to dine with her, and spend the night at Melton Court; and I may add that you'll be fools if you don't accept." After which dissent was impossible.

"And I want to tell you," said Miss Cogbill, turning to Carrington, "that you've managed this affair very well; and as I'm in want of a likely young man as my business agent, if you call on me to-morrow in town, we'll see if we can't find something more profitable for you to do than hunting up stray honeymooners."

"Say!" interjected the graceless Richard, who was far from pleased at the turn affairs had taken—"Say, where do I come in?"

"Young man," said Aunt Eliza, turning on him like a flash, "did you buy a return ticket to America?"

"Yes, but——"

"Well, then," she interrupted, "you use it, the first chance you get. And as for you," addressing the two married couples, "the sooner you start for Melton Court the better; and don't let me hear of your being lost again."

"Aren't you coming with us, Miss Cogbill?" asked Scarsdale.

"The lawyer and I," replied that lady, "are the only two responsible persons in this crowd, and we'll stay right here and look after—Her Ladyship's Elephant."

HEINEMANN'S

CHEAPER NOVELS

A LITTLE LIST OF DELIGHTFUL BOOKS TO READ BY

Sir G. Parker, M.P.
H. G. Wells
Jack London
E. F. Benson
John Galsworthy
H. de Vere Stacpoole
Philip Gibbs
Joseph Conrad
Stephen Crane
Duncan Schwann
Robert Hichens
Lloyd Osbourne
R. L. Stevenson
Richard Harding Davis
D. D. Wells
Baroness von Hutten
Frank Danby
Elizabeth Robins
Florence C. Price
Sybil Spottiswoode
Mrs. Henry Dudeney
Justin Huntly McCarthy
Eleanor Abbott
Charles Turley
Flora Annie Steel
Eleanor Mordaunt
Mrs. Hodgson Burnett
E. L. Voynich
Maxwell Gray

On all Bookstalls and of all Booksellers

LONDON

WILLIAM HEINEMANN

MCMXII

HEINEMANN'S 1s NET NOVELS

MOLLY MAKE-BELIEVE

By ELEANOR HALLOWEL ABBOTT

A New Novel

Was that boy a fool? Or did he behave a trifle imprudently in trying circumstances? It is difficult to say till you know Molly, who is described by the press as "one of the most lovable, fascinating and wholly adorable little heroines whose acquaintance any man has made for years." One thing is certain, no sooner do you make Molly's acquaintance than you introduce her to all your friends.

THE WEAVERS

By Sir GILBERT PARKER

Author of "The Ladder of Swords," etc.

Sir Gilbert Parker is one of our finest romance writers of the present day. This is a story of Egypt—full of rich colour, brilliant flowing descriptions. It has the flavour of the Desert, the Nile and the indefinable sense of immortality that belongs to the land of the Pharaohs.

TOTO

By H. DE VERE STACPOOLE

Author of "The Blue Lagoon," etc.

Written with that verve and wonderfully infectious humour which is characteristic of this author. The Outlook says: "That rare and delightful thing, a French novel written in English."

THREE BOOKS

By BARONESS VON HUTTEN

PAM

Pam is a "classic" before her time so to speak. People are compared to "Pam"; so to their disadvantage are most girl heroines of the novels. She is inimitable, by herself, and oh! so wholly charming!

WHAT BECAME OF PAM

"Whether we have or have not read 'Pam,' we shall certainly find 'What became of Pam' interesting."—Daily Telegraph.

OUR LADY OF THE BEECHES

Balzac says "The dramas of life do not lie in the circumstances surrounding—they lie in the heart.' This is a drama of the heart.

"This tender idyll ... we can only recommend our readers to buy and read it for themselves."—Daily Mail.

THE ADVENTURER

By LLOYD OSBOURNE

"Crowded with thrilling incident the narrative races along. The book can be recommended to all who enjoy a tale of pure adventure."—Times.

BACCARAT

By FRANK DANBY

Author of "Pigs in Clover," etc.

This brilliant caustic writer here gives one of her vividest pictures of a certain clique in society. She wields no timid pen and does not hesitate to catch them in flagrante delicto. Yet the book is no "preachment" from a self-assumed pulpit, it is a novel simply.

THE COUNTRY HOUSE

By JOHN GALSWORTHY

Author of "A Man of Property," etc.

This problem of the country family, the county family, is such that it concerns every one of us vitally. What they had to solve we have to solve. And it is Mr. Galsworthy's strong point that he never fails to give us a new vision, nor to hold our interest intent throughout. It is an inspiring work.

LORD KENTWELL'S LOVE AFFAIR

By FLORENCE C. PRICE

A good story of London society and of political society. Lord Kentwell and his sisters provide a most spirited picture, and there is besides a background of big happenings very cleverly drawn.

THE SEA WOLF

By JACK LONDON

Author of "The Call of the Wild."

A gruesome, thrilling story of the sea. Mr. London brings always the breath of big spaces, the tenseness of great actions and the flesh and blood of real life, of adventures really lived, into his books. As a story, apart from anything else, it is probably as good a book as Mr. London has ever written.

THE NIGGER OF THE "NARCISSUS"

By JOSEPH CONRAD

Author of "Typhoon," etc.

Mr. Conrad is a writer to whom the public instinctively turn nowadays for an exciting, closely analysed study of men. The Daily Chronicle says: "It is written by a man who knows every phase of the sea ... and it is written by a man who can write."

THE MAGNETIC NORTH

By ELIZABETH ROBINS

Author of "Come and Find Me," etc.

A story of the ever-calling North.

"It is all so excellently written, so vividly realised, so picturesquely put before the reader that it would be impossible not to be attracted."—Westminster Gazette.

TWO NOVELS by E. F. BENSON

Author of "Sheaves," etc. etc.

THE BLOTTING BOOK

A murder story, most ingeniously worked out. Mr. Benson carries the reader along full speed to a truly dramatic ending.

THE BABE B.A.

A very differed story from the "Blotting Book." It is a light, highly entertaining account of Cambridge undergraduate life which already ranks with "Verdant Green" among University classics.

TWO NOVELS

By Mrs. HENRY DUDENEY

THE MATERNITY OF HARRIET WICKEN

A picture in low tones, but of whole-hearted conviction and quiet sympathetic appeal. Mrs. Dudeney has realised to perfection the work-a-day world and its stories.

THE ORCHARD THIEF

A charming country tale with, in particular, one great scene of striking dramatic force. The contrast of this author's power to charm and to impress as she wills, is markedly shown in this capital book.

THE TIME MACHINE

By H. G. WELLS

Author of "The War of the Worlds," "Kips," etc.

You pull certain levers, having seated yourself in the saddle, and you are conveyed either backwards or forwards. When Mr. Wells is in the saddle it is easy to see how highly pleasurable the adventures will be. This clever idea has given Mr. Wells opportunity for full play of his philosophic views.

IF I WERE KING

By JUSTIN HUNTLY MCCARTHY

A mediaeval romance of love and chivalry in which the poet Francois Villon plays the leading part. It has drama, this story, and it seizes the imagination.

MARCIA IN GERMANY

By SYBIL SPOTTISWOODE

Author of "Hedwig in England," etc.

Marcia is a bright, pleasant English girl, who goes to stay with her German relations. As others before she finds it difficult to grasp a different point of view, a different civilisation. The result is amusingly set forth by this author, whose dialogue is always good.

GODFREY MARTIN: School Boy

By CHARLES TURLEY

One of the very best of boys' books. It is one of the rarest of all rare things—a thoroughly sensible school story. The boys are human, neither saints nor super-sinners, and the masters for once behave in a totally reasonable way. And that doesn't prevent it being a rattling good story.

THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE

By STEPHEN CRANE

Author of "The Open Boat," etc.

The thunders of war, the life of regiments, the soul of humanity in stress and dangers, its qualities and shortcomings are all written on the pages of this thrilling and absorbing book. From the first paragraph our enthusiasm is gained and is not let go till the last.

"Simply unapproached in intimate knowledge and sustained imaginative strength."—Sat. Review.

The STREET of ADVENTURE

By PHILIP GIBBS

The "Street" is Fleet Street of course, for in what other are so many adventures to be found. The Evening Standard says: "It has the quality of big work.... The book positively pants with life."

HEINEMANN'S 2s NET NOVELS

THE SHUTTLE

By MRS. HODGSON BURNETT

Author of "Little Lord Fauntleroy," "The Secret Garden," etc.

"Takes its place at once and without dispute among the greater permanent works of fiction. Breadth and sanity of outlook, absolute mastery of human character and life, bigness of story interest, place Mrs. Hodgson Burnett's new book alongside the best work of George Eliot.... The dignity and strength of a great novel such as this put to the blush all but a very few living English storytellers."—Pall Mall Gazette.

"A remarkable novel, for it is written with a sincerity and glow and power which bear the reader restlessly along the strange current of events that the writer sets herself to describe."—Standard.

"Mrs. Burnett has the gift of a narrator to a high degree, and in spite of its faults, her latest novel makes a highly readable story."—Daily Mail.

"A novel of the highest rank."—Daily Graphic.

Mrs. Burnett is a past-master in drawing her own countrywomen, and Betty is a dazzling vision of youthful charm combined with business-like competence."—The Queen.

"The story is rich and spacious; it illustrates human nature, both British and American, in a simple and massive way, and paints both in the primary colours."—Westminster Gazette.

BELLA DONNA

By ROBERT HICHENS

Author of "The Londoners," "Flames," "An Imaginative Man," etc.

This is the excellent novel on which the excellent play of the same title is founded. It is a book full of weird, haunting scenes of passion in the desert, full of the strange sinister fatalism of Eastern minds.

"This is one of the best novels that we have ever read, and quite the best that Mr. Robert Hichens has written. It combines the two elements of which every good novel ought to be composed, subtle analysis of character and an exciting plot.... We will not spoil the reading of this book by sketching the thrilling plot, which is enacted on the Nile and its banks. Needless to say, the Egyptian scenery and servants are described by Mr. Hichens with affectionate familiarity."—Saturday Review.

"It is admirable drama. It lives with a present life, and moves swiftly. Some of the situations are intensely thrilling; the dialogue is firm and easy; the whole treatment forcible without theatricalism.... Our attention is fixed at the start, and kept to the end, on a duel between Isaacson and Bella Donna. It is magnificent ... there can be no denying it is a very fine novel."—The Evening Standard and St. James's Gazette.

"It is particularly interesting; its characters are drawn with particular care and splendid skill.... 'Bella Donna' is a fine study of a woman of passion; remorseless in its truth, fascinating in its unmasking of the hidden springs of selfish desire."—The Globe.

THE BOOK OF A BACHELOR

By DUNCAN SCHWANN

Author of "The Magic of the Hill"

Mr. Duncan Schwann has recently been acclaimed as one of the four great humourists in England at the present time. This "Book of a Bachelor" is delightful reading of a light kind, but it carries weight also, for Mr. Schwann has picked out the little feeblenesses and frailty of this world as a background to his airy frivolity.

"A picturesque romance of modern life is this story by Duncan Schwann.... There is, indeed, a good deal of cleverness in the book."—Westminster Gazette.

"... Is decidedly entertaining. Mr. Schwann is an admirable journalist who has already given proof of his power, but he has done nothing so good as this ... which is intelligent, humorous, and on the side of the angels."—British Weekly.

"There is knowledge of the world and some mild philosophy to be found in this pleasant romance of modern life."—Globe.

A SHIP OF SOLACE

By ELEANOR MORDAUNT

Author of "The Garden of Contentment"

"The Garden of Contentment," those charming letters to Mr. Nobody, has never ceased to sell from the moment it was published. The same may be said of "A Ship of Solace," which is filled with the breath of the sea, and the pleasing state of mind of complete idleness. It is a book for quiet hours, to which one can turn with pleasurable anticipation of repose and refreshment.

"Readers who like the scent of real sea air will revel in this truly delightful book."—Daily Telegraph.

THE GIFT OF THE GODS

By FLORA ANNIE STEEL

Author of "On the Face of the Waters," "The Potter's Thumb," "From the Five Rivers," etc. etc.

"She has that gift, rare now among novelists, of being interested, first of all, in the story she has to tell. She is herself so strongly interested that her readers are carried along with her and share in her vitality and freshness."—Standard.

"Mrs. Steel gives us one admirably dramatic scene,—the death of an old woman from shock at a sudden disillusion while on her way to the Communion Table.... The squalid and starveling lot of crofters living on barren soil in or towards the last decade of the 19th century is well depicted."—Athenæum.