ing greedily.

'I think not,' said Smyth, handing the umbrella to Selwyn, and
carefully searching all his pockets. 'I am afraid my valet has
neglected that essential part of a gentleman's wardrobe. But what do
you say, gentlemen, to a short pilgrimage to Archibald's?'

'No, Smyth,' said the American, putting his hand in Durwent's arm.
'For certain reasons, Mr. Sherwood'----

'Ha!' said Smyth, with a dramatic pose of his legs, 'Archibald is the
soul of discretion. Compared to him, an Egyptian mummy is a pithy
paragrapher. _Mes amis_, Archibald's is just across the bridge, and I
can assure you that the Twilight Tinkle, in which I have the honour to
have collaborated, is guaranteed to change the most elongated
countenance of glum into a globular surface of blithesome joy.'

'No,' began Selwyn impatiently.

'Let us try it,' said Durwent eagerly. 'I think this chill has got
into my blood. I'd give a lot for a shot of rum or brandy.'

'We can have anything in my rooms,' protested the American. 'You want
to get your wet things off--and, besides, it's a risk going in there.'

'No risk--no risk,' said Durwent, laughing foolishly and rubbing his
hands together.--'Where is this hole, Smyth?'

'Gentlemen,' said the artist, 'after the custom of these military days,
I urge you "fall in."'

Getting in the centre and adjusting his hat at a precipitate angle on
the extreme left of his head, Smyth took Dick Durwent's arm, and
extending the other to Selwyn, marched the pair across the bridge,
holding the absurd umbrella over each in turn as if it offered some
real resistance to the scurvy downpour.

III.

'This way, gentlemen,' said Smyth, leading them up an alley, across a
court, and into a lane. 'Permit me to welcome you to Archibald's.'

They entered a dimly lit tavern, where a dozen or so men sat about the
room at little tables. Instead of the usual pictures one sees in such
places, pictures of dancers with expressive legs, and race-horses with
expressive faces, the walls were hung with dusty signed portraits of
authors, artists, and actors, most of whom had attained distinction
during the previous half-century. Sir Henry Irving as Othello held the
place of honour over the bar, with Garrick as his _vis-a-vis_ on the
opposite wall. The divine Sarah cast the spell of her eternal youth on
all who gathered there; and Lewis Waller, with eyes intent on his
sword-handle, seemed oblivious to the close proximity of L