But though one obstacle had vanished, the other remained. What would Mrs Nash say? For, much as I disliked it, I was forced to face the fact that my party, if I gave it, would have to come off in Beadle Square. I had half thought of borrowing Flanagan's room for the occasion, but didn't like to ask him; besides, if I did, it would have to be half his party and half mine, which wasn't at all my idea. Then it occurred to me, should I take lodgings for a week and give it there?

No, it would cost too much even for twelve shillings a week; and my uncle, if he heard of it, might stop my keep at Mrs Nash's. Suppose I hired a room at an hotel for the evening, and asked the fellows there?

It wasn't a bad idea, and would probably only cost me half a week's wages. But the worst of it is, if you ask fellows to dine with you at an hotel, they are sure to come expecting a grand turn out; and I doubted my talents to provide anything grand; besides, the hotel people would be sure to want to supply the things themselves, and ask for the money in advance. Or if I didn't humour them they would to a certainty turn crusty and critical, and spoil my party for me.

No, the only thing was to make the best of Beadle Square, and to that end I determined to tackle Mrs Nash at once.

You may fancy the good woman's surprise and scorn when I propounded to her my ambitious scheme.

"You give a party! Fiddlesticks! You'll do nothing of the sort."

"Please, Mrs Nash," pleaded I, "it will be a very quiet one, I promise."

"And where do you expect to have it, I wonder?" said she. "In the coal- cellar, I suppose? That's the only spot in the house that ain't occupied."

"Oh," replied I, thinking it judicious to laugh at this facetious suggestion, "I'd like the parlour for that evening, if you could manage it, Mrs Nash."

"What! are you going to ask all the fellows here to your party, then?"

"Oh, no. Couldn't you let them know the parlour's engaged for that evening?--just for once? You know I'd pay you something--"

"I dare say you would!--you'd pay anything, you would! And what are you going to give them all to eat, eh?"

"Oh, I'll see to that," said I.

This was an unfortunate reply of mine. Mrs Nash, as it happened, was inclined to enter into my scheme, and, had I only known it, would have offered to take some trouble to help me. But this answer of mine offended her sorely.

"Oh, very well," said she, loftily; "you don't want me, I can see, and I'm just as glad."

In vain I protested, and implored her not to be vexed. I hadn't meant it at all. I couldn't possibly do without her. I was a beast to say what I had, and so on. The most I could get out of her was a vague promise that I might have the room on the evening in question. As for the entertainment, she washed her hands of the whole affair.

I was inclined to give it up. Not that I had ever imagined she would help me; but to have her downright unfriendly at such a time would, I knew, ruin the thing totally.

For some days she would listen to nothing at all on the subject.

"It's your look-out," she said to every appeal. "Let's see what sort of a hand you'll make of it, my beauty."

I was in despair. I longed to issue my invitations, but till Mrs Nash was "squared" it was out of the question to name the happy day. It was evidently useless to argue the matter. The best thing I could do was to let it alone, and allow her to imagine the scheme had been abandoned.

In this calculation I was correct. Some days afterwards, happening to be in the parlour with her after breakfast, she said, "And when's your grand party, as you call it, coming off, Mr Batchelor?"

I started up in rapture at the question.

"Then you _will_ help me, Mrs Nash?" I cried, running up to her, and taking it all for granted.

She first looked amazed, then angry, and finally she smiled.

"I never said so. You're a sight too independent for my taste, you are.

_I_ ain't a-goin' to put my fingers into where I ain't wanted."

"But you _are_ wanted, and you will be a brick, I know!" cried I, almost hugging her in my eagerness.

The battle was won, and that morning I went down to the office positively jubilant. My party was fixed for Thursday!

I felt particularly important when the time came for inviting Doubleday and Crow to the festive a.s.sembly. I had rehea.r.s.ed as I walked along the very words and tones I would use. On no account must they suppose the giving of a party was the momentous event it really proved itself.

"By the way, Doubleday," said I, in as off-hand a manner as I could a.s.sume, after some preliminary talk on different matters--"by the way, could you come up to supper on Thursday? Just the usual lot, you know."

I could have kicked myself for the way I blushed and stammered as I was delivering this short oration.

Doubleday gazed at me half curiously, half perplexed.

"Eh--supper? Oh, rather! Where's it to be? Mansion House or Guildhall?"

I didn't like this. It wasn't what I had expected.

"Oh, up at my place, you know--Beadle Square," I said.

At this Doubleday fairly laughed.

"Supper at your place at Black Beadle Square? Oh, rather! I'll come.

You'll come too, Crow, eh? The young un's got a supper on on Thursday.

Oh, rather. Put me down for that, old man."

Could anything have been more mortifying? Most invitations are received politely and graciously. What there was to laugh at about mine I couldn't understand.

"Oh, yes, Crow's coming," I said, meekly. "At least I hope so."

"Oh, rather!" said Crow, beaming. "I wouldn't miss it for a lot. Is it evening dress or what?"

I was too much disconcerted and crestfallen to answer the question, and avoided my two prospective guests for the rest of the day.

Already I was half repenting my venture. But there was no drawing back now. Letters or messages came from the rest of the "usual lot"--the Twins, Flanagan, the Field-Marshal, Daly, and Whipcord, every one of them saying they'd be there. Yes, there was nothing left but to go through with it.

The next two days were two of the most anxious days I ever spent. I was running about all one afternoon (when I ought to have been delivering bills of lading), inquiring the prices of lobsters, pork-pies, oranges, and other delicacies, arranging for the hire of cups and saucers, ordering b.u.t.ter and eggs, and jam, and other such arduous and delicate duties. Then I spent the evening in discussing with myself the momentous questions whether I should lay in tea-cakes or penny buns, whether I need have brown bread as well as white, whether Mrs Nash's tea would be good enough, whether I should help my great dish--the eel- pie--myself, or trust it to one of the company to do.

These and similar momentous matters engaged my thoughts. And it began to dawn on me further that my financial estimates had been greatly out, and that my supper would cost me nearer a pound than ten shillings.

Never mind. After all, was I not worth twelve shillings a week? I needn't trouble about the expense. Besides, the pastrycook had agreed to give me credit, so that really I should have comparatively little to pay down.

A far more serious anxiety was Mrs Nash. It required constant and most a.s.siduous attention to keep her in good temper. And the nearer the time came the more touchy she got. If I suggested anything, she took it as a personal slight to herself; if I was bold enough to differ from her, she was mortally offended; if I ventured to express the slightest impatience, she turned crusty and threatened to let me shift for myself.

The affair, too, naturally got wind amongst my fellow-lodgers, who one and all avowed that they would not give up their right to the parlour, and indulged in all manner of witticisms at my cost and the cost of my party. I pacified them as best I could by promising them the reversion of the feast, and took meekly all their gibes and jests when they begged to be allowed to come in to dessert and hear the speeches, or volunteered to come and hand round the champagne, or clear away the "turtle-soup," and so on.

But the nearer the fatal day came the more dejected and nervous I got.

Mrs Nash's parlour was really a disreputable sort of room, and after all I had had no experience of suppers, and was positive I should not know what to do when the time came. I had neither the flow of conversation of Doubleday, nor the store of stories of Daly, nor Whipcord's sporting gossip, nor the Twins' self-possessed humour. And if my guests should turn critical I was a lost man; that I knew. How I wished I were safe on the other side of that awful Thursday!

The day came at last, and I hurried home as hard as I could after business to make my final preparations. The eel-pie was arriving as I got there, and my heart was comforted by the sight. Something, at least, was ready. But my joy was short-lived, for Mrs Nash was in a temper. The fact is, I had unconsciously neglected a piece of advice of hers in the matter of this very eel-pie. She had said, have it hot. I had told the pastrycook to deliver it cold. Therefore Mrs Nash, just at the critical moment, deserted me!

With a feeling of desperation I laid my own tablecloth--not a very good one--and arranged as best I could the plates and dishes. Time was getting short, and it was no use wasting time on my crabby landlady.

Yet what could I do without her? Who was to lend me a kettle, or a saucepan for the eggs, or a toasting-fork, or, for the matter of that, any of the material of war? It was clear I must at all hazards regain Mrs Nash, and the next half-hour was spent in frantic appeals to every emotion she possessed, to the drawing of abject pictures of my own helplessness, to profuse apologies, and compliments and coaxings. I never worked so hard in my life as I did that half-hour.