and inquire the nature of my business. And here ensued my first
surprise--quite a dramatic coincidence--for the tall, spare, middle-aged
gentleman who advanced from the shadows towards the counter, proved, to
my intense astonishment, to be a constant chess antagonist of mine at
Kling's Chess Rooms, round the corner, in New Oxford Street--rooms
which have long since disappeared, together with Horwitz, Harrwitz,
Loewenthal, Williams, and other great chess lights of those far-away
times, who were to be seen there, night after night, prepared for all
comers. Kling's was a great chess house, and I was a chess enthusiast,
as well as a youth who wanted to get into print. Failing literature, I
had made up my mind to become a chess champion, if possible, although I
knew already by quiet observation of my antagonists, that in that way
madness lay, sheer uncontrollable, raging madness--for me at any rate.
And the grave, middle-aged gentleman behind the counter of 13 Great
Marlborough Street, proved to be the cashier of the firm, and
used--being chess-mad with the rest of us--to spend his evenings at
'Kling's.' He was a player of my own strength, and for twelve months or
so had I skirmished with him over the chessboard, and fought innumerable
battles with him. He had never spoken of his occupation, nor I of my
restless ambitions--chess players never go far beyond the chequered
board.

[Illustration: ELMORE HOUSE]

'Hallo, Robinson!' he exclaimed in his surprise, 'you don't mean to say
that you---- '

And then he stopped and regarded my youthful appearance very critically.

'Yes, Mr. Kenny--it's a novel,' I said modestly; 'my first.'

'There's plenty of it,' he remarked dryly. 'I'll send it upstairs at
once. And I'll wish you luck, too; but,' he added, kindly preparing to
soften the shock of a future refusal, 'we have plenty of these come
in--about seven a day--and most of them go back to their writers again.'

[Illustration: AT THIRTY]

'Ye-es, I suppose so,' I answered, with a sigh.

For a while, however, I regarded the meeting as a happy augury--a lucky
coincidence. I even had the vain, hopeless notion that Mr. Kenny might
put in a good word for me, ask for special consideration, out of that
kindly feeling which we had for each other, and which chess antagonists
have invariably for each other, I am inclined to believe. But though we
met three or four times a week, from that day forth not one word
concerning the fate of m