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Updated: June 6, 2025
Nothing could have better pleased the new inhabitant of Woodbine Cottage, who was speedily on excellent terms with his housekeeper. From her he heard that a jeweller's assistant had been to Maudesley, and had submitted a portfolio of designs to the millionaire. "Which they do say," Mrs. Manders continued, "that Mr.
He nodded over the brimming glass with a knowing "Well, chin-chin!" and subsided diagonally into a chair with his legs across one arm. "I thought Grierson's age and experience might save my play from further amateur surgery," Eric explained. "Tootaloo," chirped Manders resiliently and dragged a crumpled script from his pocket.
"He gave me that book, too," said Beetle, licking his lips: "There's a great text in Galatians, Once you trip on it entails Twenty-nine distinct damnations, One sure if another fails." Then irrelevantly: "Setebos! Setebos! and Setebos! Thinketh he liveth in the cold of the moon." "He's just come in from dinner," said Dick Four, looking through the window. "Manders minor is with him."
"There was one about his hunting for popularity with the small boys, and the other one was one about him in hell, tellin' the Devil he was a Balliol man. I swear both of 'em rhymed all right. By gum! P'raps Manders minor showed him both! I'll correct his caesuras for him."
The lights remained lowered, and the company came forward to take the calls with the usual pause before Manders made his appearance, the usual extra half-minute's smiling and bowing. With practised unconcern he looked for a moment toward Eric's box and then looked away again, as though he had never expected to see any one there.
At last a sapper named Manders, with half a dozen Gurkhas behind him, ran across the open space, and while the Gurkhas shot through the loop holes and kept the fire down, Manders fixed his gun cotton at the bottom of the door and lighted the fuse.
On his return to official work, Eric found that he could not concentrate his attention on anything until he knew what Manders thought of "The Singing-Bird"; sometimes he wondered whether he could ever concentrate until Barbara had brought his suspense to an end. For three months they had not met or corresponded. "Dr. Gaisford says I simply make you worse," she told him.
Now his novel was in the agent's hand, and "Mother's Son" had been sent to Manders. As he dawdled before a book-stall at Waterloo, Eric's eye was caught by "The World and His Wife" contents' bill, which announced, with other attractions, an "Illustrated Interview with Mr. Eric Lane."
Manders was a dark-bearded man, big for the North-West Police. He had two hobbies. One was trouble in the Balkans, which he was always prophesying. The other was a passion for Sophocles, which he read in the original from a pocket edition. Start him on the chariot race in "Elektra" and he would spout it while he paced the cabin and gestured with flashing eyes.
He turned to find Manders smiling, as though to say, "Why didn't you tell us? We should have understood. We're men of the world." "The first act," Eric repeated earnestly. "As you will, but do go ahead with it. I want some lunch." For five seconds the three men turned the limp, dog's-eared pages until they had found the place.
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