aking a seat in a box facing the door, he ordered dinner
from one of the shirtsleeved attendants.

The first glance had told him that the man he wished to see was not
there, but he knew he must come in before long; and, in fact, before
Leander's food could be brought, the old scholar made his appearance.

He was hardly a man of attractive exterior, being of a yellow
complexion, with a stubbly chin, and lank iron-grey locks. He wore a
tall and superannuated hat with a staring nap, and the pockets of his
baggy coat bulged with documents. Altogether he did not seem exactly the
person to be an authority on the subject of Venus.

But, as the hairdresser was aware, he had the reputation of being a mine
of curious and out-of-the-way information, though few thought it worth
their while to work him. He gained a living, however, by hackwork of
various descriptions, and was in slightly better circumstances than he
allowed to appear.

As he passed slowly along the central passage, in his usual state of
abstraction, Leander touched him eagerly on the sleeve. "Come in 'ere,
Mr. Freemoult, sir," he said; "there's room in this box."

"It's the barber, is it?" said the old man. "What do you want me to eat
with you for, eh?"

"Why, for the pleasure of your company, sir, of course," said Leander,
politely.

"Well," said the old gentleman, sitting down, while documents bristled
out of him in all directions, "there are not many who would say
that--not many now."

"Don't you say so, Mr. Freemoult, sir. I'm sure it's a benefit, if only
for your conversation. I often say, 'I never meet Mr. Freemoult without
I learn somethink;' I do indeed."

"Then we must have met less often than I had imagined."

"Now, you're too modest, sir; you reelly are--a scholar like you, too!
Talking of scholarship, you'll be gratified to hear that that title you
were good enough to suggest for the 'Regenerator' is having a quite
surprising success. I disposed of five bottles over the counter only
yesterday." ("These old scholars," was his wily reflection, "like being
flattered up.")

"Does that mean you've another beastly bottle you want me to stand
godfather to?" growled the ungrateful old gentleman.

"Oh no, indeed, sir! It's only----But p'r'aps you'll allow me previously
the honour of sending out for whatever beverage you was thinking of
washing down your boiled beef with, sir."

"Do you know who I am?" Mr. Freemoult burst out. "I'm a scholar, and