ing caught in the act of declaiming fragments of his dialogue, by
easy-going scullers who pulled silently round the side of the houseboat,
he dashed into the interior of that aquatic residence with much
precipitation. At other times his meditations were broken in upon by the
cheery invitations and restless invasions of a wild tribe of the youth
of Twickenham and its neighbourhood who had a tent in a field hard by,
and whose joy at morning, noon, and night, was beer. These savages
had an accordion and a penny whistle and other instruments of music
wherewith to make the night unbearable and the day a heavy burden.
They were known as 'The Tribe of the Scorchers,' and were a happy and
a genial people, but their presence was inimical to the rising hopes of
the drama. Nevertheless, Barndale worked, and the comedy grew little by
little towards completion. James, outwardly cynical regarding it,
was inwardly delighted. He believed in Barndale with a full and firm
conviction; and he used to read his friend's work at night, or listen
to it when Barndale read, with internal enthusiasm and an exterior of
coolness. Barndale knew him through and through, and in one scene in the
comedy had drawn the better part of him to the life. Hearing this scene
read over, it occurred to the genial youth himself that he would like to
play the part.

'Billy, old man,' said he, 'I think Sir What's-his-name there's about
my style of man. Before you put that immortal work upon the public stage
you'd better try an amateur performance carefully rehearsed. You play
George Rondel. I'll play Sir What's-his-name. Easily fill up the other
characters. Ladies from London. Week's rehearsals. Bring it out at your
own place at Christmas.'

Barndale caught at this idea so eagerly that he sat down that evening
and wrote to a London manager requesting him to secure the services of
three famous actresses, whom he named, for the first week of the next
year. He stipulated also for the presence of a competent stage manager
through the whole week, and promised instructions with respect to
scenery, and so forth, later on. In his enthusiasm he drew up a list of
critics and authors to invite, and he and Leland straightway began to
study their respective parts. It was getting near the end of August now,
and the evenings began to close in rapidly. The river was quite deserted
as a rule by eight o'clock, and then the two friends used to rehearse
one especial scene. There was a