anthemum. It was my last chance.
If I watered it once I should be in a position to state that, whatever
condition it might be in, I had certainly been watering it. I jumped
into a hansom, told the cabby to drive to the inn, and twenty minutes
afterward had one hand on Gilray's door, while the other held the
largest water-can in the house. Opening the door I rushed in. The can
nearly fell from my hand. There was no flower-pot! I rang the bell. "Mr.
Gilray's chrysanthemum!" I cried. What do you think William John said?
He coolly told me that the plant was dead, and had been flung out days
ago. I went to the theatre that night to keep myself from thinking. All
next day I contrived to remain out of Gilray's sight. When we met he was
stiff and polite. He did not say a word about the chrysanthemum for a
week, and then it all came out with a rush. I let him talk. With the
servants flinging out the flower-pots faster than I could water them,
what more could I have done? A coolness between us was inevitable. This
I regretted, but my mind was made up on one point: I would never do
Gilray a favor again.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XIII.

THE GRANDEST SCENE IN HISTORY.

[Illustration]

Though Scrymgeour only painted in watercolors, I think--I never looked
at his pictures--he had one superb idea, which we often advised him to
carry out. When he first mentioned it the room became comparatively
animated, so much struck were we all, and we entreated him to retire to
Stratford for a few months, before beginning the picture. His idea was
to paint Shakespeare smoking his first pipe of the Arcadia Mixture.

Many hundreds of volumes have been written about the glories of the
Elizabethan age, the sublime period in our history. Then were Englishmen
on fire to do immortal deeds. High aims and noble ambitions became their
birthright. There was nothing they could not or would not do for England.
Sailors put a girdle round the world. Every captain had a general's
capacity; every fighting-man could have been a captain. All the women,
from the queen downward, were heroines. Lofty statesmanship guided the
conduct of affairs, a sublime philosophy was in the air. The period of
great deeds was also the period of our richest literature. London was
swarming with poetic geniuses. Immortal dramatists wandered in couples
between stage doors and taverns.

[Illustration]

All this has been said many times; and we read these glowing outbursts
a