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Freydon, said Mabel Foster as she gave me her softly gloved little hand over the cab door. And, from that moment, I was her slave; only realising some few minutes later that I had been so unpardonably rude as never even to have glanced in Miss Prinsep's direction, to say nothing of bidding her good-bye.
'But this is practically a story, or 'This is really fiction, or 'This is a sketch of a personal character, not a newspaper feature, he would say. And then, one day, in handing me back one of my rejected offspring, he said: 'Look here, Freydon, see if you can condense this a shade, and then send it to the editor of the Observer. I've written him saying I should tell you this.
And it may be admitted, in all affectionate respect, that Freydon was not exactly of those who are said to 'get on with any one. In the matter of my own recent journey to Australia, the thing which I looked forward to with keenest interest was the opportunity I thought it would afford me of seeing and talking with Freydon, in his chosen retreat in the Antipodes, and judging of his welfare there.
And as for the money part, I thought this was the very place to come to for money. 'Ah! Well, how did you come? 'The cab's waiting outside. 'Dear me! You may have noticed, Freydon, that cabmen are a peculiarly gallant class. They don't show much inclination to drive us about when we have no money, do they? Then he turned to Miss Prinsep.
Then Freydon here can have one of these rooms. He will want to start in at once. 'As you like, of course, Mr. Arncliffe, said the manager, with portentous suavity. 'These gentlemen are of your staff, not mine. But, really! Well, it is for you to say, but I greatly fear that one or both of these gentlemen will be quite likely to resign if we treat them in so very summary a fashion. 'No!
He spoke in a penetrating nasal tone as I approached the open door of the room, and what he said to his unknown companion came as such a buffet in the face to me that I turned and walked away. The words I heard were: 'Freydon? Oh yes; clever, in his ten cent way. I allow the chap's honest, mind, but, sakes alive, he's only what a N'York thief would call a "sure thing grafter."
But it was already apparent to me that he could be made quite happy by fancying that the letters were of his composition, and I did not conceive that it was part of my duty to undeceive him. 'Ah! Well, now, when could you begin work, Mr. Freydon? I smiled, and told him I could go on at once with any further letters he had. 'Yes, yes; to be sure. Begun already, as you say.
But I will say that, in the writing, I do not think Freydon had considered the question of publication. I do not think that in these last exercises of his pen he wrote consciously for the printer and the public. As those who know his published work are aware, he was much given to literary allusiveness and to quotation.
So far as my own observation informs me, the death of Nicholas Freydon was noted by no more than three English journals: two of the oldest morning newspapers in London, and that literary weekly which, despite the commercial fret and fume of our time, has so far preserved itself from the indignity of any attempted blending of books with haberdashery or 'fancy goods. Had Freydon died in England, I apprehend that a somewhat larger circle of newspaper readers might have been advertised of the fact.
The 'he' in this case was, of course, the person who had shown discernment enough to address me as 'Mister Freydon. And, deprecate as I might, the thing had given me a thrill of deep and real satisfaction. Merely recalling the sound of it added to the exaltation of my mood, and to my obsession by the wonder, the romance of the various transitions of my life.
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