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Fortunately, there is no need for me to risk the adventure, since my friend, Mr. Edward Leggatt, an able writer as well as an admirable painter, has exhaustively discussed Charles Strickland's work in a little book which is a charming example of a style, for the most part, less happily cultivated in England than in France.

"I owe 'im more than a trifle for things he wrote about me. I'll keep the car." 'Your Mr. Leggatt now injected some semi-mutinous remarks to the effect that he was your chauffeur in charge of your car, and, as such, capable of so acting. Mr. Morshed threw him a glarnce. It sufficed. Didn't it suffice, Mr. Leggatt? 'I knew if something didn't happen, something worse would, said Leggatt.

'The Dervish rush took place later. 'So I laid her in these ruts. That was where she must 'ave scraped her silencer a bit. Then they turned sharp right the ruts did and then she stopped bonnet-high in a manure-heap, sir; but I'll swear it was all of a one in three gradient. I think it was a barnyard. We waited there, said Leggatt. 'But not for long, said Pyecroft.

"Yet somehow I can't love him. I want to mortify the beggar. Volunteers to mortify my uncle, one pace to the front." 'I took Jules with me the regulation distance. Jules was getting interested. Your Mr. Leggatt preserved a strictly nootral attitude. "You're a pressed man," says our Mr. Morshed. "I owe your late employer much, so to say. The car will manoeuvre all night, as requisite." 'Mr.

'We then proceeded ong automobile along the ridge in a westerly direction towards the miniature fort which had been so kindly revealed by the searchlight, but which on inspection (your Mr. Leggatt bumped into an outlyin' reef of it) proved to be a wurzel-clump; c'est-

'I may 'ave omitted to point out that at this juncture two large armies, both deprived of their night's sleep, was awake, as you might say, and hurryin' into each other's arms. Here endeth the second chapter. He filled his pipe slowly. The uncle had fallen asleep. Leggatt lit another cigarette.

Fred's run is on everybody's lips, and we as the authors of his being are made much of. Mr. Leggatt, the banker, works his way up to me through the crowd at great personal distress, for he is a fat man, in order to say, with an enthusiastic shake of the hand: "Great boy that of yours; splendid grit; I must have him when he graduates." I sputter many thanks confusedly.

Leggatt come out noble as your employee, and, by 'Eaven's divine grace, instead of arguing, he pleaded his new paint and varnish which was Mr. "True," says he, "paint's an 'oly thing. I'll give you one hour to arrange a modus vivendi. Full bunkers and steam ready by 9 P.M. to-night, if you please." 'Even so, Mr. Leggatt was far from content. I 'ad to arrange the details.

We ought to be sitting on five pounds' worth of selected fireworks, and I think the rockets are your end." Not being able to smoke with my 'ead over the side I threw it away; and then your Mr. Leggatt, 'aving been as nearly mutinous as it pays to be with my Mr. Morshed, arched his back and drove. 'Where did he drive to, please? said I.

'Primerrily, in search of any or either or both armies; seconderrily, of course, in search of our brigadier-uncle. Not finding him on the road, we ran about the grass looking for him. This took us to a great many places in a short time. Ow 'eavenly that lilac did smell on top of that first Down stinkin' its blossomin' little heart out! 'I 'adn't leesure to notice, said Mr. Leggatt.