ny liqueur glass to the brim.

"Of course," commenced Sir Simon, "from the very first nothing would
induce Mum to believe that the Pleasant-Faced Lion, our old friend Lal,
ever had anything to do with my life, or ever influenced me in any way.
You know, my boy, it is one of women's weaknesses to invariably believe
that they do more than they really do. She declared that everything in
my life was owing to your influence and to hers."

"Mine?" asked the Writer in astonishment.

"So Mum always insisted, and so she always undoubtedly believed, and
when the time came that you ran away,--yes, you dog, for you did run
away, don't deny it,--well, what with sorrow for the loss of you, and
trouble with your mother, for she declared I had driven you from home
by not encouraging you to write, and women are most illogical and
unreasonable when they once get a fixed idea into their heads,--well,
between one and the other of you I had a very bad time. The fact
remained that you were gone, never gave us any address, and I got all
the blame for it. But the thing that annoyed Mum more than anything
else was my everlasting habit of going to the Pantomimes."

The Writer laughed. "Well, I never knew before, Dad, that Pantomimes
were a special weakness of yours."

"Neither were they, my boy, but as sure as ever Christmas came, and the
inevitable Pantomimes also, so did I go to every one; not only in
London, but every city of the United Kingdom." Here Sir Simon, as if
overcome with emotion, groaned aloud. "My boy, pity me; I believe I am
the only person still alive who has ever sat out every single Pantomime
that has been written for ten years, and oh! what twaddle they were."

"But what on earth did you go to them for?" asked the Writer, aghast.

"To find you."

"Me? Good heavens, at a Pantomime? Dad, were you dreaming?"

"Yes," answered old Sir Simon, shaking his white head at the
recollection. "I was dreaming of what Lal had prophesied--that you
would make your name and fortune when you met Dick Whittington, and
then you would come back to us. And the more I thought of it, the more
I was convinced that there was only one possible way of meeting Dick
Whittington in the world to-day, and that would be when some lady--and
they were always ladies, plain, fair, ugly, tall, lean, fat,
pretty--who appeared as that character--met you whilst impersonating
Dick. You rascal, I believed that you would meet one of these female
Dick