a crowd of companions surge out from
afternoon school. The stranger came as far as the corner of Carlington
Road with Michael.

"I will write to your mother and ask her to let you dine with me one
night next week. You interest me so much."

Mr. Wilmot waved a pontifical good-bye and vanished in the direction of
Kensington.

At home Michael told his mother of the adventure. She looked a little
doubtful at his account of Mr. Wilmot.

"Oh, he's all right, really, Mother. Only, you know, a little peculiar.
But then he's a poet."

Next day came a letter from Mr. Wilmot.

205 EDWARDES SQUARE, W.

_November._

_Dear Mrs. Fane,_

_I must apologize for inviting your son to dinner so
unceremoniously. But he made a great appeal to me, sitting on the
top of a ladder in Elson's Bookshop. I have a library, in which he
may enjoy himself whenever he likes. Meanwhile, may he come to
dinner with me on Friday next? Mr. Johnstone, the Member for West
Kensington, is coming with his nephew who may be dull without
Michael. Michael tells me he thinks of becoming an ecclesiastical
lawyer. In that case Johnstone will be particularly useful, and can
give him some hints. He's a personal friend of old Dr. Brownjohn.
With many apologies for my 'impertinence,'_

_Yours very truly,_

_Arthur Wilmot._

"This is a perfectly sensible letter," said Mrs. Fane.

"Perhaps I thought he was funnier than he really was. Does he say
anything else except about me sitting on the top of a ladder?"

Somehow Michael was disappointed to hear that this was all.

Chapter IX: _The Yellow Age_

Dinner with Mr. Arthur Wilmot occupied most of Michael's thoughts for a
week. He was mainly concerned about his costume, and he was strenuously
importunate for a tail-coat. Mrs. Fane, however, was sure that a
dinner-jacket would better become his youthfulness. Then arose the
question of stick-up collars. Michael pointed out that very soon he
would be sixteen, and that here was a fine opportunity to leave behind
the Polo or Shakespeare collar.

"You're growing up so quickly, dearest boy," sighed his mother.

Michael was anxious to have one of the new double collars.

"But don't they look rather _outre_?" protested Mrs. Fane.

"Well, Abercrombie, the Secretary of the Fifteen, wears one," observed
Michael.

"Have your own way, dear," said Mrs. Fane gently.

Two or three days