meet him--he is now stout and rubicund--he gives
me the idea of a man who has attained to his ideals.

With Minikin we had more trouble. People turned up possessed of
scientific smattering. We had to explain that the Professor never talked
shop. Others were owners of unexpected knowledge of German, which they
insisted upon airing. We had to explain that the Herr Professor was
in London to learn English, and had taken a vow during his residence
neither to speak nor listen to his native tongue. It was remarked that
his acquaintance with colloquial English slang, for a foreigner, was
quite unusual. Occasionally he was too rude, even for a scientist,
informing ladies, clamouring to know how he liked English women, that he
didn't like them silly; telling one gentleman, a friend of Dan, a rather
important man who once asked him, referring to his yard of ribbon, what
he got it for, that he got it for fourpence. We had to explain him as
a gentleman who had been soured by a love disappointment. The ladies
forgave him; the gentlemen said it was a damned lucky thing for the
girl. Altogether, Minikin took a good deal of explaining.

Lady Peedles, our guests decided among themselves, must be the widow of
some one in the City who had been knighted in a crowd. They made fun of
her behind her back, but to her face were most effusive. "My dear Lady
Peedles" was the phrase most often heard in our rooms whenever she was
present. At the theatre "my friend Lady Peedles" became a person much
spoken of--generally in loud tones. My own social position I found
decidedly improved by reason of her ladyship's evident liking for
myself. It went abroad that I was her presumptive heir. I was courted as
a gentleman of expectations.

The fishy-eyed young man became one of our regular guests. Dan won his
heart by never laughing at him.

"I like talking to you," said the fishy-eyed young man one afternoon to
Dan. "You don't go into fits of laughter when I remark that it has been
a fine day; most people do. Of course, on the stage I don't mind. I
know I am a funny little devil. I get my living by being a funny little
devil. There is a photograph of me hanging in the theatre lobby. I saw
a workman stop and look at it the other day as he passed; I was just
behind him. He burst into a roar of laughter. 'Little--! He makes me
laugh to look at him!' he cluttered to himself. Well, that's all right;
I want the man in the gallery to think me funny, but it ann