When there was silence he said, with a certain biting shortness: "Somebody must have told you."

"n.o.body told me," was the reply. "But you don't really mean to say I've guessed right?"

"If you call it a guess--yes," said the host, whose mortification had become painful to witness.

"Well," said the other quickly and pleasantly, "'guess' perhaps isn't the right word, and, of course, I shouldn't therefore claim the reward.

You see----," and he then explained how he had remembered the odd experience in Yorkshire, and in default of any inventiveness of his own had used it. "So, of course," he added, rising and moving towards the window, "the offer is off. Remembering isn't guessing; quite the reverse. What a gorgeous moon!"

The others also rose, only too willingly, for the situation had become trying; the matter dropped, at any rate as a theme of general conversation; and gradually and uncomfortably bed-time was reached.

Several of the party were at breakfast the next morning when their host made his first appearance; and they noticed that he had regained his customary gay serenity. Walking up to the guest whose memory had been so embarra.s.sing, he handed him a slip of paper.

"I'm sorry, old man," he said, "to have been in such a muddle last night, but the accuracy of that shot of yours dazed me. Of course the offer stands. All this cheque needs is for you to fill in the name of whatever hospital or charity you prefer."

"Thanks," said the other as he put it in his pocket-book.

ON EPITAPHS

Not long ago I was staying in a village where the shortest cut to the inn lay through the churchyard, and pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing so often I came to know the dead inhabitants of the place almost better than the living. Not with the penetrating knowledge of the author of "Spoon River Anthology"--that very extraordinary and understanding book,--but in a kindly superficial way. Indeed, considering that they were total strangers and their acquaintance not now to be made by any but the followers of those doughty knights of the round (or square) seance table, Sir Oliver and Sir Conan, some of these dead people were absurdly often in my thoughts; but that was because of their names. Such names!

Many of course were no longer legible, for Father Time had either obliterated them with his patient finger, dipped now in lichen and now in moss, or upon them his tears had fallen too steadily. But many remained and some of them were wonderful. Has it ever been explained why the dead have more remarkable names than the living? Did any one ever meet "in the form" a Lavender Wiseways? Yet there was a Lavender Wiseways lying beneath one of those stones. There was her sister too, lying close beside--Lavinia Wiseways. Neither had married; but then how could they have performed a deed which would have lost them such distinction! And who now exchanges market greetings, with a gaitered gentleman named Paradine Ebb? Yet once there was a Paradine Ebb, farmer, not such a great distance from London, to shake by the hand, and chat to, and buy fat stock from, and, I hope, share a cordial gla.s.s with. And who--but if I continue I shall betray the village's name, and that is against good manners. Too many real names get into print in these inquisitive days.

It was not however of strange dead names that I was thinking when I took up my pen, but of the epitaphs on the tombstones, sometimes so brief and simple, sometimes so long and pompous, and almost always withholding everything of real importance about the occupants of the narrow cells beneath and almost always affecting to despise the precious gift of life. Why should not some one, greatly daring, go so far as to bid the mason engrave a tribute to the world that is being left behind? Would that be so impious? There is no indication that any of these dead ever enjoyed a moment.

Something like this, for instance--

HERE LIES

HENRY ROBINSON

WHO LIVED IN THE BELIEF--AND, WITH MANY FAILURES, DID HIS BEST TO ACT OF TO IT--THAT IF YOU SPEND YOUR TIME IN TRYING TO MAKE THINGS A LITTLE EASIER AND MERRIER IN THIS WORLD, THE NEXT CAN TAKE CARE OF ITSELF.

The whole insincere suggestion of most churchyards now is that life has been spent in a vale of tears: a long tribulation, merely a preparation for another and better world. But we know that that is not usually the case, and we know that many lives, although unrelated to graveyard ideas of decorum and insurance, are happier than not. There is in the G.o.d's Acre of which I am writing more than one appeal to the living to be wary of earthly serenity: surely a very unfair line for the dead to take and not unremindful of the fable of the fox and his tail. An elaborate stone close by the lych gate has a series of dreary couplets warning the pa.s.ser-by that the next grave to be dug may be his; and on the a.s.sumption that he is being too happy he is adjured to a morbid thoughtfulness. The dead might be kinder than that, more generous, more altruistic! I should like a headstone to bear some such motto as

"DIE AND LET LIVE."

But not only do the epitaphs suggest that life below is a snare; they are by no means too encouraging about the life above. The spirit they proclaim is a very poor one. Nothing can make death attractive; but even if some golden-mouthed advocate should arise whose eloquence half persuaded, the churchyard would beat him: the damp of it, the gloom of it, the mouldiness of it, the pathetic unconvincing efforts at resignation which the slabs record! We ought to be braver; more heartening to others. A rector who allowed none but cheerful epitaphs would be worth his t.i.thes.

Would there be any very impossible impropriety in such an inscription as this--

HERE LIES

JOHN SMITH

WHO FOUND EARTH PLEASANT AND REJOICED IN ITS BEAUTIES AND ENJOYED ITS SAVOURS; WHO LOVED AND WAS LOVED; AND WHO WOULD FAIN GO ON LIVING. HE DIED RELUCTANTLY, BUT WISHES WELL TO ALL WHO SURVIVE HIM.

CARPE DIEM.

Reading that, the stranger would not necessarily (I hope) be transformed into a detrimental Hedonist.

And now and then a human foible might be recorded by the stonemason without risk of undermining society's foundations. When our friends are dead why should we not disclose a little? Some secrets are better out.

Here for example--

HERE LIES

(in no expectation of immortality)

THOMAS BROWN

HE WAS NO FRIEND OF THE CHURCH, BUT HE PAID HIS WAY, INTERFERED WITH NONE OF HIS NEIGHBOURS, AND HIS WORD WAS HIS BOND.

What would happen if Thomas Brown's friends paid for such lapidary style as that? Would the world totter? Again--

HERE LIES

MARY JONES

THE WIFE OF WILLIAM JONES.

HONOUR HER MEMORY, FOR SHE WAS LENIENT WHEN HER HUSBAND WAS IN LIQUOR.

I should also like to see memorial verses beginning:

Physicians sore Long time I bore.

IN AND ABOUT LONDON

I

A LONDON THRILL

The scene was Gerrard Street: a rather curious thoroughfare notable for possessing three or four restaurants dear to Bohemia, the great West End telephone exchange, the homes of Dryden and Edmund Burke, a number of cinema offices, and many foreign inhabitants.

The time was three o'clock in the afternoon.

In the middle were two or three big vans, loading or unloading and filling the roadway, thus cutting the street into two so effectively that I, approaching from the east, had no knowledge of anything happening in the western half. I therefore attached no significance to the hurrying steps of a policeman in front of me, but was a little surprised to see him pick his way almost on tiptoe between the vans--yet not sufficiently surprised to antic.i.p.ate drama.

But the drama was there, awaiting me, on the other side of the vans, and the policeman--this being London drama--was naturally one of the performers. For there never was a street play yet--comedy, tragedy, or farce--without a policeman in the cast. It is a convention to say--as every one has in his time said and will say again--that a policeman is never there when he is wanted; but that is true only in the dull sense: what we mean is that the policeman is never there before the curtain rises, or, in other words, in time to prevent the performance altogether. How tame if he were! As a matter of fact, by delaying his arrival until the affair is in good train he takes his proper part as a London entertainer; that is to say, he is there when he is wanted--wanted to complete the show.

It was thus on the present occasion.