pportunity of seeing such delights, they had their
effect. When they had made their twenty-first procession the thing
certainly grew stale, and as they brought with them an infinity of
dirt, they were no doubt a nuisance. But no one would have been
inclined to judge these amateur actors with harshness who knew how
much they themselves were called on to endure, who could appreciate
the disgusting misery of a hot summer afternoon spent beneath dust
and paint and tin-plate armour, and who would remember that the
performers received payment neither in _eclat_ nor in thanks, nor
even in the smiles of beauty.

"Can't somebody tell them not to come any more?" said the duchess,
almost crying with vexation towards the end of the afternoon.

Then Mr Manfred Smith, who managed everything, went to the rear, and
the king and warriors were sent away to get beer or cooling drinks at
their respective clubs.

Poor Mr Manfred Smith! He had not been present at the moment in which
he was wanted to lead the duchess to her stall, and the duchess never
forgave him. Instead of calling him by his name from time to time,
and enabling him to shine in public as he deserved to shine,--for he
had worked at the bazaar for the last six weeks as no professional
man ever worked at his profession,--the duchess always asked for
"somebody" when she wanted Mr Smith, and treated him when he came
as though he had been a servant hired for the occasion. One very
difficult job of work was given to him before the day was done; "I
wish you'd go over to those young women," said the duchess, "and say
that if they make so much noise, I must go away."

The young women in question were Mrs Chaucer Munro and her bevy, and
the commission was one which poor Manfred Smith found it difficult to
execute.

"Mrs Munro," said he, "you'll be sorry to hear--that the duchess--has
got--a headache, and she thinks we all might be a little quieter."

The shouts of the loud nymphs were by this time high. "Pooh!" said
one of them. "Headache indeed!" said another. "Bother her head!" said
a third. "If the duchess is ill, perhaps she had better retire,"
said Mrs Chaucer Munro. Then Mr Manfred Smith walked off sorrowfully
towards the door, and seating himself on the stool of the money-taker
by the entrance, wiped off the perspiration from his brow. He had
already put on his third pair of yellow kid gloves for the occasion,
and they were soiled and torn and disreputable; his polished