ly reaching the big table in a moment of quiet, made
an instant sensation.

"The golden age of letters!" was echoed in concert by eight men who
arose solemnly and bowed to the embarrassed Layton. He tried to smile
tolerantly, as if he knew a joke when he saw one. They sat down and
turned to stare at him with extravagant awe, catching his eye when they
could and drinking to the golden age. Piersoll grinned cheerfully at
them. Ewing was puzzled.

"I like this place for its literary atmosphere," said one loudly, gazing
over the head of Layton. "Don't you all just love literature?" "Oh, I
simply adore it!" answered the next man. "I really can't say what I
should do without books. I think they improve the mind."

Now they hitched their chairs about so that they could regard Layton
more easily, though they affected to be unconscious of his presence.

"It _does_ seem to me that literature is good to read," ventured another
conservatively, "but then, _I_ love music and flowers and the little
birds."

"I should die without literature," insisted another--"it's so good and
excellent. Oh, why do not more people read literature and be decent!"

"Now you take Henry James," began another, judicially, "he's a bright
writer, but he can't touch the great throbbing heart of the public like
Hall Caine can."

"What _is_ a Hall Caine can?" demanded the whiskered person bluntly. "I
thought they kept 'em in jars."

Layton rose, genially bidding his host and Ewing good night. The men at
the long table rose with him, bowed ceremoniously, and chanted "the
golden age of letters" as he passed--all but one, who sobbed bitterly
because poor Shakespeare had not lived to see it.

Ewing was still dazed, but he had slowly been growing cheerful. He felt
that he could almost understand this strange fooling. He would have been
glad to observe it still from a distance, but Piersoll took him to the
long table when Layton had gone. The others made room for them, and
Ewing responded somewhat timidly to the introductions that Piersoll
performed. He was a little anxious lest he be made a part or target of
their sport and show himself awkward under the ordeal. For the moment,
however, there were remarks about the undesirability of "tradesmen" as
guests of the club.

"I know a lovely delicatessen merchant," said one brightly, "a most
interesting person. He says this is the golden age of cooked provisions.
I must have him round the next time Layton is br