Even the very house in which the milliners lived was not free from the
Bohemian taint. On the second floor, immediately above the _magasin
des modes_, and immediately under the private rooms of Mesdames
Anatole and Clarisse, lived Mr. Rupert Robinson. Shortly after her
arrival Mademoiselle Clarisse met on the stairs several times a
middle-sized, middle-aged, jolly-looking gentleman, with bright
roguish eyes and a light-brown beard, who bowed as he passed by,
and gave her the inside of the staircase with much politeness, and
with a "Pardon, ma'amselle," in a very good accent. Asked who this
could be, Mademoiselle Anatole responded that it was probably "_ce_
Robinson:" asked what was _ce_ Robinson, Madamoiselle Anatole further
replied that he was "_feuilletoniste, littérateur--je ne sais quoi!_"
And Mademoiselle Anatole was not far out in her guess, to which she
had probably been assisted by the constant sight of a grimy-faced
printer's-boy peacefully slumbering on a stool specially placed for his
accommodation outside Robinson's door. Those were the early days of
cheap periodicals, and there were few newspaper-offices or publishers'
shops where Mr. Rupert Robinson was unknown or where he was not
welcome. He was a bright, genial, jolly fellow, with an inexhaustible
stock of animal spirits and good-humour, with a keen appreciation of
the ludicrous, and a singular power of hunting-out and levelling lance
at small social shams and inflated humbugs of the day; and though he
would not have used a bludgeon, and could not have wielded a cutlass,
yet he made excellent practice with his foil, and when he chose, as it
happened sometimes, to break the button off and set to work in earnest,
his adversary always bore the marks of the bout. Generally, however,
he kept clear of anything like heavy work, for which his temperament
unsuited him, and confined himself to light literature, at which he
was one of the smartest hands of the day; and, in addition to his
journalistic and periodical work, he was one of the pillars of the
Parthenon Theatre.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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