groups came in from
the dressing-rooms they made at once for the centre of attraction, and
soon Victor was the centre of a crowd that buzzed about him like bees
about a flower, seeking the honey of laughter. I doubt if he was ever so
much on the "spot" before. I could see him revelling in it. I could see
him telling Rule's about it. But in the middle of his best story,
Freddie bustled up.

"Oh, 'scuse me, sir, but I forgot to tell you before. I said sort 'em
up, but ... you might just be careful, 'cos the Vicar's dropping in
during the evening. I'll give you the word when he's here, so's you'll
be sure to hand 'em something quiet. It's all right until he comes. Just
give 'em anything you like."

And Victor waved a faded hand, and said, "Righto, laddie, righto. I get
you," and turned again to the blushing little girl, who certainly seemed
now to be Quite The Lady in her manner of receiving his attentions.
Under his expansive mood everybody seen knew everybody else, and all
traces of stiffness vanished. The company was a little mixed, and it was
inevitable that there should be demarcations of border, breed, and
birth. Some were shop-assistants, some were mechanics, some were clerks,
some were even Civil Servants; and as all were Christians they were
naturally hesitant about loving one another. But Victor broke down all
barriers by his large humanity and universal appeal.

Suddenly, there was a hammering on the floor, and a voice called,
"Attention, please!" And then--"Duet for violin and piano: Miss Olive
Craven and Mr. Fred Parslow."

We broke into little groups, and settled ourselves. Then came a crash of
chords from the piano, and a prolonged reiteration of the A while
Freddie tuned. They set to work. I heard the opening bars, and I held my
breath in dismay. They were going to play a Tchaikowsky Concerto. But
the dismay was premature. They _played_; both of them. I do not know
whether Freddie was engaged to Olive, but there was a marvellous
sympathy uniting them; and, though little technical flaws appeared here
and there, the beauty of the work was brought right out. Freddie and
Olive were musicians. It was a delicious quarter of an hour. They got a
big handful of applause, and then Freddie asked: "Ready, sir?" and
Victor said he was, and Freddie said, "What is it?" and conveyed the
answer to the portly old fellow who seemed to be president. After a
minute or so, during which the girls chattered and giggled and co