of what in those days was termed a comedy-drama. The little
sense I possessed must, I suppose, have been absorbed by the play.

The magistrate's decision somewhat damped my ardour, but only inflamed
his zeal. Magistrates, he said, were muddle-headed old fogies. This was
a matter for a judge.

The judge was a kindly old gentleman, and said that bearing in mind the
unsatisfactory wording of the sub-clause, he did not think he could allow
the company their costs, so that, all told, I got off for something under
fifty pounds, inclusive of the original fourteen and tenpence.

Afterwards our friendship waned, but living as we did in the same
outlying suburb, I was bound to see a good deal of him; and to hear more.

At parties of all kinds he was particularly prominent, and on such
occasions, being in his most good-natured mood, was most to be dreaded.
No human being worked harder for the enjoyment of others, or produced
more universal wretchedness.

One Christmas afternoon, calling upon a friend, I found some fourteen or
fifteen elderly ladies and gentlemen trotting solemnly round a row of
chairs in the centre of the drawing-room while Poppleton played the
piano. Every now and then Poppleton would suddenly cease, and everyone
would drop wearily into the nearest chair, evidently glad of a rest; all
but one, who would thereupon creep quietly away, followed by the envying
looks of those left behind. I stood by the door watching the weird
scene. Presently an escaped player came towards me, and I enquired of
him what the ceremony was supposed to signify.

"Don't ask me," he answered grumpily. "Some of Poppleton's damned
tomfoolery." Then he added savagely, "We've got to play forfeits after
this."

The servant was still waiting a favourable opportunity to announce me. I
gave her a shilling not to, and got away unperceived.

After a satisfactory dinner, he would suggest an impromptu dance, and
want you to roll up mats, or help him move the piano to the other end of
the room.

He knew enough round games to have started a small purgatory of his own.
Just as you were in the middle of an interesting discussion, or a
delightful _tete-a-tete_ with a pretty woman, he would swoop down upon
you with: "Come along, we're going to play literary consequences," and
dragging you to the table, and putting a piece of paper and a pencil
before you, would tell you to write a description of your favourite
heroine in fiction, and wou