“Rath_er_” said Sidney. “They’re a hot lot. My _word_! Saw _The Walls of Jericho_ three times. Gives it ’em pretty straight, that does. _Visits of Elizabeth_, too. Chase me! Used to think some of us chaps in the ‘Moon’ were a bit O.T., but we aren’t in it—not in the same street. Chaps, I mean, who’d call a girl behind the bar by her Christian name as soon as look at you. One chap I knew used to give the girl at the cash-desk of the ‘Mecca’ he went to bottles of scent. Bottles of it—regular! ‘Here you are, Tottie,’ he used to say, ‘here’s another little donation from yours truly.’ Kissed her once. Slap in front of everybody. Saw him do it. But, bless you, they’d think nothing of that in the Smart Set. Ever read ‘God’s Good Man’? There’s a book! My stars! Lets you see what goes on. Scorchers they are.” “That’s just what my dialogues point out. I can count on you, then?” He said I could. He was an intelligent young man, and he gave me to understand that all would be well. He would carry the job through on the strict Q.T. He closely willingly with my offer of ten per cent, thus affording a striking contrast to the grasping Hatton. He assured me he had found literary chaps not half bad. Had occasionally had an idea of writing a bit himself. We parted on good terms, and I was pleased to think that I was placing my “Dialogues of Mayfair” and my “London and Country House Tales” in really competent and appreciative hands. CHAPTER 14 THE THIRD GHOST _(James Orlebar Cloyster’s narrative continued)_ There only remained now my serious verse, of which I turned out an enormous quantity. It won a ready acceptance in many quarters, notably the _St. Stephen’s Gazette_. Already I was beginning to oust from their positions on that excellent journal the old crusted poetesses who had supplied it from its foundation with verse. The prices they paid on the _St. Stephen’s_ were in excellent taste. In the musical world, too, I was making way rapidly. Lyrics of the tea-and-muffin type streamed from my pen. “Sleep whilst I Sing, Love,” had brought me in an astonishing amount of money, in spite of the music-pirates. It was on the barrel-organs. Adults hummed it. Infants crooned it in their cots. Comic men at music-halls opened their turns by remarking soothingly to the conductor of the orchestra, “I’m going to sing now, so you go to sleep, love.” In a word, while the boom lasted, it was a little gold-mine to me.