ls went flying about the
board, and I chaffed him on his flukes. He had not the temperament of a
billiard-player. Still, I have heard that he played a fair game at St.
Stephen's; but I can hardly believe it without first-hand testimony.
I am willing to believe, however, that he was a good chess-player.
Certainly he had a head for it But chess is a vile game for a
brain-worker, whose recreations should never involve a mental strain.

When I first knew Mr. Bradlaugh he was living at Tottenham. I never
visited him there, but I often called on him at his later lodgings in
Turner-street, Commercial-road. He occupied the ground floor, consisting
of two rooms. The back was his bedroom, and the front his library and
workshop. It was what the Americans call a one-horse affair. Shelves all
round the room were filled with books. Mr. Bradlaugh sat at a desk with
his back to the fireplace. On his right was the door communicating with
his bedroom facing him the door opening on the passage, and on his right
(? left) the street window. The room itself could hardly have been more
than twelve or thirteen feet square. I once told him he was too near the
fireplace, and he said it was sometimes good to have the poker handy. At
that I stared, and he told me the following story.

One day a gentleman called on him and was invited to take a chair. He
sat down facing Mr. Bradlaugh, and explained that he wanted advice on a
very particular matter. God Almighty had told him to kill someone, and
he had a difficulty in selecting a victim. Mr. Bradlaugh put his hand
behind him and quietly grasped the poker. The inspired gentleman put the
problem as a knotty one, and begged the assistance of the clever
Iconoclast. "Well," said Mr. Bradlaugh, keeping quite cool, "what do you
say to the Archbishop of Canterbury?" "The very man!" exclaimed the
inspired gentleman. He got Mr. Bradlaugh to give him the Archbishop's
address, and said, "Good-day," with a profusion of thanks. Mr. Bradlaugh
went to the door to look for a policeman, but none was visible, and the
inspired gentleman was soon out of sight.

"So you see," said Mr. Bradlaugh, "It's good to have the poker handy. I
never saw or heard of the man again, and I knew he couldn't get near the
Archbishop. There are too many flunkeys in the way."

Those were my struggling days, and Mr. Bradlaugh was very kind to me. I
remember the Sunday evening when I told him I thought of taking to the
Freethought platform