a
temporary absence, and clumsily turning round in the circumscribed
space.

[Illustration: "Get out!"]

But that is another story. It was no flowers that Steele now brought me,
but stern peremptory command to "get out!" He was unusually irate, first
at having been wakened out of his sleep, and secondly at having in
probably unique circumstances been caught napping at the post of duty. I
went forth disconsolate, and there was a great hubbub in the dark little
room outside. My friend and co-conspirator fled in affright when he saw
me actually enter the gallery. Now he dropped in in a casual way, and
stood at the edge of the crowd whilst Steele took down my name and
address, and told me I should "hear from the Serjeant-at-Arms." I don't
know whether that potentate ever communicated with me. I fancy Steele,
recognising his own somewhat imperilled position, was not anxious to
pursue the matter. Anyhow, I never heard from the Serjeant-at-Arms.
Walter and I agreed, as a matter of precaution, that I had better
hasten my departure for Paris, and two days later the English Channel
rolled between me and the Clock Tower.

Next time I entered the Press Gallery it was as the accredited
representative of the _Pall Mall Gazette_. I came over from Paris to
spend Christmas at home, and never went back to complete that
continental tour in search of knowledge, which I fancy had been
suggested by Goldsmith's trip with his flute. It happened that in the
early days of 1870, the proprietor of the _Pall Mall Gazette_ began the
first of the series of chequered changes in the history of the journal,
by starting it as a morning paper. I had been an occasional contributor
in a humble way to the evening edition, and thought I might have a
chance of an appointment on the staff of the new morning paper.

Mentioning this to my friend Walter, he undertook to see it through,
just as he had fallen in with the even more audacious proposal to enter
the Press Gallery. I remember we were not far off Northumberland Street
when the subject was broached, and might easily have walked there. But
Walter could never embark upon enterprises of this kind unless he went
in a cab, the driver being incited to go at topmost speed.

[Illustration: OUTSIDE THE "PALL MALL" OFFICE.]

He left me in the cab whilst he ran upstairs to the office in
Northumberland Street--I saw him going two steps at a time--and flung
himself into the office of Mr. Fyffe, an old and highly