y screamed at the
public from the advertisement columns of "The Referee":
"Mackwayte, in his Celebrated Kerbstone Sketches. Wit! Pathos!
Tragedy!!! The Epitome of London Life. Universally Acclaimed as
the Greatest Portrayer of London Characters since the late Chas.
Dickens. In Tremendous Demand for Public Dinners. The Popular
Favorite. A Few Dates still Vacant. 23, Laleham Villas, Seven
Kings. 'Phone" and so on.

But only professionally did Mr. Mackwayte thus blow his own
trumpet, and then in print alone. For the rest, he had nothing
great about him but his heart. A long and bitter struggle for
existence had left no hardness in his smooth-shaven flexible
face, only wrinkles. His eyes were gray and keen and honest, his
mouth as tender as a woman's.

His daughter, Barbara, was already at table pouring out the
tea--high tea is still an institution in music-hall circles. Mr.
Mackwayte always gazed on this tall, handsome daughter of his
with amazement as the great miracle of his life. He looked at her
now fondly and thought how.... how distinguished, yes, that was
the word, she looked in the trim blue serge suit in which she
went daily to her work at the War Office.

"Rations a bit slender to-night, daddy," she said, handing him his
cup of tea, "only sardines and bread and butter and cheese. Our
meatless day, eh?"

"It'll do very well for me, Barbara, my dear," he answered in his
gentle voice, "there have been times when your old dad was glad
enough to get a cup of tea and a bite of bread and butter for his
supper. And there's many a one worse off than we are today!"

"Any luck at the agent's, daddy?"

Mr. Mackwayte shook his head.

"These revues are fair killing the trade, my dear, and that's a
fact. They don't want art to-day, only rag-time and legs and all
that. Our people are being cruelly hit by it and that's a fact.
Why, who do you think I ran into at Harris' this morning? Why,
Barney who used to work with the great Charles, you know, my
dear. For years he drew his ten pound a week regular. Yet there
he was, looking for a job the same as the rest of us. Poor
fellow, he was down on his luck!"

Barbara looked up quickly.

"Daddy, you lent him money...."

Mr. Mackwayte looked extremely uncomfortable.

"Only a trifle, my dear, just a few shillings.... to take him
over the week-end.... he's getting something.... he'll repay me,
I feel sure...."

"It's too bad of you, daddy," his daughter said severely. "I