"You want me to make you an offer? Otherwise I should sell them by auction for you, deducting ten per cent. commission."

"Not by auction," I said impulsively. "I couldn't bear to know how much or rather how little, my Georgian bureau fetched. It was there, as I think I told you, that I wrote my 'Guide to the Round Pond.' Give me an inclusive price for the lot, and never, never let me know the details."

He named an inclusive price. It was something under a hundred-and-fifty pounds. I shouldn't have minded that if it had only been a little over ten pounds. But it wasn't.

"Right," I agreed. "And, oh, I was nearly forgetting. There's an old opera hat of exquisite workmanship, which----"

"Ah, now clothes had much better be sold by auction. Make a pile of all you don't want and I'll send round a sack for them: I have an auction sale every Wednesday."

"Very well. Send round to-morrow. And you might--er--also send round a--er--cheque for--quite so. Well, then good morning."

When he had gone I went into my bedroom and made a pile of my opera-hat.

It didn't look very impressive--hardly worth having a sack specially sent round for it. To keep it company I collected an a.s.sortment of clothes. It pained me to break up my wardrobe in this way, but I wanted the bidding for my opera-hat to be brisk, and a few preliminary suits would warm the public up. Altogether it was a goodly pile when it was done. The opera-hat perched on the top, half of it only at work.

To-day I received from Mr. Bennett a cheque, a catalogue and an account.

The catalogue was marked "Lots 172-179." Somehow I felt that my opera hat would be Lot 176. I turned to it in the account.

"_Lot 176--Six shillings_"

"It did well," I said. "Perhaps in my heart of hearts I hoped for seven and sixpence, but six shillings--yes, it was a good hat."

And then I turned to the catalogue.

"_Lot 176_--Frock coat and vest, dress coat and vest, ditto, pair of trousers and opera hat."

"_And opera hat._" Well, well. At least it had the position of honour at the end. My opera hat was starred.

LITTLE PLAYS FOR AMATEURS

[--Note--.--_There are only six plots allowed to us who are not professionals. Here they are. When you have read them, then you will know all about amateur theatricals._]

XL. "FAIR MISTRESS DOROTHY"

_The scene is an apartment in the mansion of Sir Thomas Farthingale.

There is no need to describe the furniture in it, as rehearsals will gradually show what is wanted. A picture or two of previous Sir Thomas's might be seen on the walls, if you have an artistic friend who could arrange this; but it is a mistake to hang up your own ancestors, as some of your guests may recognise them, and thus pierce beneath the vraisemblance of the scene._

_The period is that of Cromwell--sixteen something._

_The costumes are, as far as possible, of the same period._

Mistress Dorothy Farthingale _is seated in the middle of the stage, reading a letter and occasionally sighing_.

_Enter_ My Lord Carey.

--Carey.-- Mistress Dorothy alone! Truly Fortune smiles upon me.

--Dorothy-- (_hiding the letter quickly_). An she smiles, my lord, I needs must frown.

--Carey-- (_used to this sort of thing and no longer put off by it_). Nay, give me but one smile, sweet mistress. (_She sighs heavily._) You sigh! Is't for me?

--Dorothy-- (_feeling that the sooner he and the audience understand the situation the better_). I sigh for another, my lord, who is absent.

--Carey-- (_annoyed_). Zounds, and zounds again! A pest upon the fellow!

(_He strides up and down the room, keeping out of the way of his sword as much as possible._) Would that I might pink the pesky knave!

--Dorothy-- (_turning upon him a look of hate_). Would that you might have the chance, my lord, so it were in fair fighting. Methinks Roger's sword-arm will not have lost its cunning in the wars.

--Carey--. A traitor to fight against his King.

--Dorothy--. He fights for what he thinks is right. (_She takes out his letter and kisses it._)

--Carey-- (_observing the action_). You have a letter from him!

--Dorothy-- (_hastily concealing it and turning pale_). How know you that?

--Carey--. Give it to me! (_She shrieks and rises._) By heavens, madam, I will have it! (_He struggles with her and seizes it._)

_Enter_ Sir Thomas.

--Sir Thomas--. Odds life, my lord, what means this?

--Carey-- (_straightening himself_). It means, Sir Thomas, that you harbour a rebel within your walls. Master Roger Dale, traitor, corresponds secretly with your daughter.

(_Who, I forgot to say, has swooned._)

--Sir Thomas-- (_sternly_). Give me the letter. Ay, 'tis Roger's hand, I know it well. (_He reads the letter, which is full of thoughtful metaphors about love, aloud to the audience.

Suddenly his eyebrows go up and down to express surprise. He seizes_ Lord Carey _by the arm_.) Ha! Listen! "To-morrow when the sun is upon the western window of the gallery, I will be with thee." The villain!

--Carey-- (_who does not know the house very well_). When is that?

--Sir Thomas--. Why, 'tis now, for I have but recently pa.s.sed through the gallery and did mark the sun.

--Carey-- (_fiercely_). In the name of the King, Sir Thomas, I call upon you to arrest this traitor.

--Sir Thomas-- (_sighing_). I loved the boy well, yet----

(_He shrugs his shoulders expressively and goes out with_ Lord Carey _to collect sufficient force for the arrest._)

_Enter_ Roger _by secret door R._