“That’s so,” said he. “It’s an ignominious destiny she’s got a holt of--cleanin’ the boots of mediocrities and lodgers.... I’ve been christenin’ the great event all week wid the heavy man of the company--but I lost the fellow about Tuesday----” Noll coughed: “And--er--is Victoria May Alice to be your lawfully wedded wife, Devlin?” “Well, sir--of course it would have been more dramatic not. I’ve struggled with the damned poetry in me; but, in case of the children comin’, I thought I’d have a commonplace corner in me destiny and the marriage certificate.” He leaned over confidentially. “Ye see, sir--no one in the profession need know.” Noll nodded: “And--er--what part are you to play, Devlin?” “I begin as baggage man,” he said loftily--“risin’ to great parts according to me genius.” “And Victoria May Alice?” “Next to being married to me,” he said with dignity--“begad it’s wardrobe mistress she starts at--straight away--wid a chance of walkin’ on the boards as a silent duchess if the leadin’ lady’s understudy gits the nervous prostration.... By the glory of God, as the heavy man says, it’s a great life--wid great chances--excitin’ as a dog-fight, wid the great passions jostlin’ each other in the seat of yer emotions, like a blurry tom-cat knockin’ the ornamental feathers out of a barndoor fowl.” CHAPTER XLIII _Wherein we catch a Glimpse of the Benefits that accrue to a Sound Commercial Education_ Sir Pompey Malahide’s old rival was in all the agony of writing a letter, and neither Isaac Tankerton Wollup’s fat little hands with the grasping pointed finger-tips, nor his bulky body, nor his spelling, aided too well in the recording of his talents on paper. The company promoter held a cigar between the forefinger and second of the hand that held down the sheet of paper to the desk, and he blew and drew the breath of his body whistling through a thick nose as he snored over his labour: “DEAR SAMUEL” (he writes to his friend the money-lender at Oxford)--“Nephew Reuben McCubbie whispers me that the old lord has done the handsome thing by the young Baddlesmere cub; and that is as I said it should be. By the Christian gods, I should have been a minor prophet in the clear air of Jerusalem, and might even have got into the Talmud--but we live in dull days. London’s a sooty hole when all is said--even intellect shows dimly, except on the Stock Exchange. Greatness has to bump against the neck of the Anglo-Saxon race before the Anglo-Saxon race sees it. Therefore I am neglected. But I am worried just now with the details of an affair that forces itself upon me even more prominently than my obesity.