Well, it was shortly afterwards that I had received a visit from Mr. Cloyster—the visit which ended in my agreeing to sign whatever manuscripts he sent me, and forward him all cheques for a consideration of ten per cent. Softest job ever a man had. Easy money. Kudos—I had almost too much of it. Which takes me back to the G.M.’s remark about my leaving the office. Since he’s bought that big house at Regent’s Park he’s done a lot of entertaining at the restaurants. His name’s always cropping up in the “Here and There” column, and naturally he’s a subscriber to the _Strawberry Leaf_. The G.M. has everything of the best and plenty of it. (You don’t see the G.M. with memo. forms tucked round his cuffs: he wears a clean shirt every morning of his life. All tip-top people have their little eccentricities.) And the _Strawberry Leaf_, the smartest, goeyest, personalest weekly, is never missing from his drawing-room what-not. Every week it’s there, regular as clockwork. That’s what started my literary reputation among the fellows at the “Moon.” Mr. Cloyster was contributing a series of short dialogues to the _Strawberry Leaf_—called, “In Town.” These, on publication, bore my own signature. As a matter of fact, I happened to see the G.M. showing the first of the series to Mr. Leach in his private room. I’ve kept it by me, and I don’t wonder the news created a bit of a furore. This was it:—— IN TOWN BY SIDNEY PRICE No. I.—THE SECRECY OF THE BALLET (You are standing under the shelter of the Criterion’s awning. It is 12.30 of a summer’s morning. It is pouring in torrents. A quick and sudden rain storm. It won’t last long, and it doesn’t mean any harm. But what’s sport to it is death to you. You were touring the Circus in a new hat. Brand new. Couldn’t spot your tame cabby. Hadn’t a token. Spied the Cri’s awning. Dashed at it. But it leaks. Not so much as the sky though. Just enough, however, to do your hat no good. You mention this to Friendly Creature with umbrella, and hint that you would like to share that weapon.) FRIENDLY CREATURE. Can’t give you all, boysie. Mine’s new, too. YOU. _(in your charming way)_. Well, of course. You wouldn’t be a woman if you hadn’t a new hat. FRIENDLY CREATURE. Do women always have new hats? YOU. _(edging under the umbrella)_. Women have new hats. New women have hats. FRIENDLY CREATURE. Don’t call me a woman, ducky; I’m a lady. YOU. I must be careful. If I don’t flatter you, you’ll take your umbrella away. FRIENDLY CREATURE _(changing subject)_. There’s Matilda. YOU. Where? FRIENDLY CREATURE. Coming towards us in that landaulette. YOU. Looks fit, doesn’t she? FRIENDLY CREATURE. Her! She’s a blooming rotter. YOU. Not so loud. She’ll hear you. FRIENDLY CREATURE _(raising her voice)_. Good job. I want her to. _Stumer_! YOU. S-s-s-sh! What _are_ you saying? Matilda’s a duchess now. FRIENDLY CREATURE. I know. YOU. But you mustn’t say “Stumer” to a duchess unless—— FRIENDLY CREATURE. Well?