The young rascal, who was sitting on top of a post, more like a Puck than ever, swiveled about and solemnly winked one eye. "Do I understand that the ban of silence is lifted?" he said from behind the mumps bandage. Grubbs considered, and then made a tactful and instantaneous decision. (Small wonder that a few years later he was entrusted with a war mission to Washington, of the utmost delicacy.) "You've had your revenge," he said, "and the joke is on us. Call your mob off, will you?" "You're quite sure you wouldn't like us to encourage the remainder for a change?" "Quite sure." "So be it, my captain." He blew a whistle through his fingers, and in a moment the fence was denuded of mortals like a tree smitten by an autumn gale. The Blower of Bubbles removed his bandage, and presented a stocky youth with three shillings. "Buy sweets for the crowd," he said, "and mind--play fair." "Right you har', guv'nor"; and the mob disappeared. And thus ended the riot of the slouch-cap against the silk hat. To-day, if you are passing the field during a match, you will see that the gamins are still there, but they shout only for Westminster. We were just turning away, when Basil Norman laid his hand on Grubbs's forearm, as a girl might do, and his eyes had a wistful look. "Before I change into more fitting garb," he said airily, then paused.... My breathing seemed to stop at the sight--his face had gone suddenly white, and his eyes were glazed. "Grubbs!" he cried, and his voice sounded hollow. "Don't you understand?... Oh, _you damned fool_, can't you see it's my heart?" V After Westminster I went to Cambridge, and succeeded in cultivating the Oxford manner, by which all Cambridge men are known. When I emerged from there I offered myself to the highest bidder (a sudden bankruptcy of my father having made an occupation essential). A London newspaper was the fortunate winner in the mad race for my services, though it would have been difficult for it to lose, as there was but one entry. I became a writer of power--not quite so much so as the gentleman to-day who wields his pen as he would a bludgeon, and succeeds in writing a powerful article each week; but still I was a writer of strength. I damned the present, doubted the future, and deplored the past. I became an honored member of the group of London writers whose entire genius is exhausted in criticism. I secured a bowing acquaintance with Bernard Shaw, and always spoke of H. G. Wells as Mr. Wells. It was obvious to me that to achieve literary success in England one must abuse England--but especially any one who tried to change her.