to them, and there they found him.

"He rose up, very pale, and followed them; and he and old Wenzel forced
their way through the crowd of guests gathered outside, and entered the
room, and locked the door behind them.

"From within there came the muffled sound of low voices and quick steps,
followed by a confused scuffling noise, then silence, then the low voices
again.

"After a time the door opened, and those near it pressed forward to
enter, but old Wenzel's broad shoulders barred the way.

"'I want you--and you, Bekler,' he said, addressing a couple of the elder
men. His voice was calm, but his face was deadly white. 'The rest of
you, please go--get the women away as quickly as you can.'

"From that day old Nicholaus Geibel confined himself to the making of
mechanical rabbits and cats that mewed and washed their faces."

We agreed that the moral of MacShaughnassy's story was a good one.

CHAPTER XII

How much more of our--fortunately not very valuable--time we devoted to
this wonderful novel of ours, I cannot exactly say. Turning the dogs'-
eared leaves of the dilapidated diary that lies before me, I find the
record of our later gatherings confused and incomplete. For weeks there
does not appear a single word. Then comes an alarmingly business-like
minute of a meeting at which there were--"Present: Jephson,
MacShaughnassy, Brown, and Self"; and at which the "Proceedings commenced
at 8.30." At what time the "proceedings" terminated, and what business
was done, the chronicle, however, sayeth not; though, faintly pencilled
in the margin of the page, I trace these hieroglyphics: "3.14.9-2.6.7,"
bringing out a result of "1.8.2." Evidently an unremunerative night.

On September 13th we seem to have become suddenly imbued with energy to a
quite remarkable degree, for I read that we "Resolved to start the first
chapter at once"--"at once" being underlined. After this spurt, we rest
until October 4th, when we "Discussed whether it should be a novel of
plot or of character," without--so far as the diary affords
indication--arriving at any definite decision. I observe that on the
same day "Mac told a story about a man who accidentally bought a camel at
a sale." Details of the story are, however, wanting, which, perhaps, is
fortunate for the reader.

On the 16th, we were still debating the character of our hero; and I see
that I suggested "a man of the Charley Buswell type."

Poor Charley, I wonde