HIS DREAMS OF WILD
ANIMALS, AND--HE WAKES!]

* * * * *

FAME.

For a long time past I had felt that something ought to be done about it,
and then one evening as I opened my paper in the Tube I came suddenly upon
the following paragraph:--

"Lunching yesterday with Jack Poppington at the Bitz, where, by the way, M.
Caramel treated us to a superbly priceless _mousse a la Canadienne_, he
told me that his _Little Pests_ is selling like wildfire and proving a real
bonanza to the lucky publishers, Messrs. Painter and Lilley. Had a pleasant
chat with him about old times in the Army Pay Corps, in which we served
together for nearly sixteen months during one of the hottest periods of
hostilities 'out yonder.' More famous amongst the general public for his
black ribboned tortoiseshell monocle and invariable presence at all truly
semi-smart Bohemian functions, Poppington keeps a brindled bulldog, grows
primulas and is, of course, known to a select circle as the energetic
Organising Secretary of the North Battersea Entomological Society."

The letterpress which I have quoted above was headed "Popular Pap" and
formed a kind of frame for a photograph of Mr. Poppington, which seemed to
show that his luncheon at the Bitz had not really agreed with him after
all, and at the bottom of the column I noted the familiar signature of
"_Marchand du Beurre_."

As usual when I read paragraphs of this kind I first of all blushed
guiltily and glanced round to see whether anyone had noticed how eagerly I
was drinking it all in. Then I put on the faint superior smile of
recognition which I felt that the situation obviously demanded. Good old
Poppington! One of the best. What recollections it stirred! _Marchand_ and
he and I--

When I left the Tube I carefully crumpled the paper up and threw it away,
and in the middle of dinner I took care to remark casually to Araminta, "By
the way, I suppose you put _Little Pests_ on the library list?"

"Awfully sorry," she said, "but I'm afraid I hadn't heard of them."

"Poppington's latest," I said curtly.

"I'm afraid I haven't heard of Poppington either."

I gave a sigh of desperation and leant back in my chair.

"Well, really!" I protested. "Surely the man himself--everybody--I
mean--his--his eye-glass--his bulldog--of course only a few of us fully
appreciate the extent of his actual research work--but still--"

"All right, I'll get it," she replied.

That finis