l in search of a place of refuge I saw a sign,
"Autograph Exhibition--Admission one shilling." A shilling! Why, such a
comfortable hiding-place would have been cheap at half-a-crown. I bolted
for the Autograph Exhibition before a piratical lady, bearing down on me
with velvet smoking caps, could reduce me to pulp.

A smiling elderly gentleman was in charge. "Hah, you would like to see my
little collection? Certainly, certainly."

I am not interested in autographs. Most bygone celebrities wrote
undecipherable hands. I have been equally puzzled in trying to read the
handwriting of GUY FAWKES and Mr. GLADSTONE. But this collection was
different. It had letters from nearly every one distinguished in the world
to-day--good, lengthy, interesting, readable letters.

"How did you contrive to get all these?" I asked the exhibitor.

"Tact, foresight and flattery, my dear Sir. It would be no use writing to
these people to-day. You'd get ignored, or at best two lines type-written
by a secretary. Now look at that long letter from LLOYD GEORGE about Welsh
nationality and that other from HILAIRE BELLOC concerning the adulteration
of modern beer. You couldn't get them now. My idea is to catch your
celebrity young. When a man produces his first play or novel or book of
poems I write him an admiring letter. You can't lay it on too thick. Ask
him some question on a topic that interests him. It always draws. They are
unused to praise and you catch them before the public has spoilt them. I
card-index all the replies I get. Of course nine out of ten of the people
turn out of no account, but some are sure to come off. You just throw out
the failures and put the successes in your collection."

At this point I heard our Archdeacon afar off. Our Archdeacon booms--not
like trade, but like the bittern. I heard him booming outside, "My dear
lady, I cannot miss the chance of seeing dear Mr. Fletterby's collection."

Fletterby! The name was familiar. Long years ago I published
something--don't inquire into the details of my crime--and the sole
response I had from an unappreciative world was a highly eulogistic letter
from one Samuel Fletterby. I remembered the time I had spent in writing him
a lengthy and courteous reply. I remembered that often in my darker days I
had drawn out the letter of Fletterby to encourage me.

And now! I looked at the collection. It was arranged alphabetically. As I
turned to the initial of my name I framed a dramatic