rejected MSS."

Beau noted the name, and wrote the address of the office in his
pocket-book, smiling curiously to himself the while.

"I'm almost glad Errington's out of the way," he said half aloud. "He
shan't see this thing if I can help it, though I dare say some
particularly affectionate friend will send it to him, carefully marked.
At any rate, he needn't know it just yet--and as for Lorimer--shall I
tell him! No, I won't. I'll have the game all to myself--and--by Jove!
how I _shall_ enjoy it!"

An hour later he stood in the office of the _Snake_, courteously
inquiring for Mr. Snawley-Grubbs. Apparently he had come on horseback,
for he held a riding-whip in his hand,--the very whip Errington had left
with him the previous day. The inky, dirty, towzle-headed boy who
presided in solitary grandeur over the _Snake's_ dingy premises, stared
at him inquiringly,--visitors of his distinguished appearance and manner
being rather uncommon. Those who usually had business with the great
Grubbs were of a different type altogether,--some of them discarded
valets or footmen, who came to gain half a crown or five shillings by
offering information as to the doings of their late masters and
mistresses,--shabby "supers" from the theatres, who had secured the last
bit of scandal concerning some celebrated stage or professional
"beauty"--sporting men and turf gamblers of the lowest class,--
unsuccessful dramatists and small verse writers--these, with now and
then a few "ladies"--ladies of the bar-room, ballet, and demi-monde,
were the sort, of persons who daily sought private converse with
Grubbs--and Beau Lovelace, with his massive head, fine muscular figure,
keen eyes, and self-assertive mien, was quite a novel specimen of
manhood for the wondering observation of the office-boy, who scrambled
off his high chair with haste and something of respect as he said--

"What name, sir, please?"

"Beaufort Lovelace," said the gentleman, with a bland smile. "Here is my
card. Ask Mr. Grubbs whether he can see me for a few minutes. If he is
engaged--editors generally are engaged--tell him I'll wait."

The boy went off in a greater hurry than ever. The name of Lovelace was
quite familiar to him--he knew him, not as a distinguished novelist, but
as "'im who makes such a precious lot of money." And he was breathless
with excitement; when he reached the small editorial chamber at the top
of a dark, narrow flight of stairs, wherein sat the autoc