He drew the constable quickly upon one side and spoke rapidly and earnestly to him for some moments. At the end of these whispered explanations the constable closed his pocket-book with a snap, and pointed across the way in the direction of the Writer's chambers. The Writer nodded. The constable touched his forehead significantly at the side of his helmet. Once again the Writer nodded. "Very well," said the constable, "if you are the one who looks after him, you can go; better get him home as quickly as you can." Amidst a parting ironical cheer the Writer hastily seized the worthy Lord Mayor by the arm and broke through the assembled crowd with all possible speed. As they passed upon their way one small incident, however, caused the Writer grave misgiving. A tall man who had undoubtedly watched the whole proceeding nodded to him and remarked sarcastically, as he passed-- "Good-night; a really most interesting and illuminating episode." Having safely gained his own abode, the Writer gazed apprehensively out of the window. The sailor could still be seen supporting himself against the pedestal of the Lion's statue, the policeman appeared to be engaged upon a new crusade of note-taking. The small crowd was melting away, but the sinister face of the sarcastic man could be seen wreathed in a cynical smile of triumph. The Writer whistled, and drawing the curtains close, turned up the electric light and anticipated the worst. The Lord Mayor sank into the most comfortable chair he could select, and helped himself to a drink; he felt he needed one badly at that moment. "What a dreadful and degrading scene," lamented Sir Simon. "Good gracious, if anybody had seen me who recognised me, I should never have heard the last of it." The Writer lit a cigar thoughtfully, and passed the box to Sir Simon. "I am afraid, Dad, we never shall hear the last of it," prophesied the Writer gloomily. "What do you mean?" inquired Sir Simon. "Did you notice that man who spoke to me at the edge of the crowd, who had presumably seen the whole thing?" "Of course not," replied Sir Simon; "how on earth could I notice anybody under such distressing circumstances? Who was he? what about him?" "That was the famous Mr. Learned Bore." "What, the man who is always advertising himself?" "Yes," agreed the Writer, "and unfortunately he has the power to do so through the medium of the newspapers; his letters to London are one of the features of the Press," added the Writer significantly. "Don't tell me," entreated the Lord Mayor, with an imploring look in his eyes, "that he will make me, the Lord Mayor of London, a subject for his heartless gibes." "He's certain to write two columns about it in one of to-morrow or the next day's papers," declared the Writer hopelessly. "Do you suppose such a man would waste such material and copy as that for one of his satirical eruptions?"