ard the story, so the president told it
him.

"Many years ago, when the drama was in its infancy, some young men from
Stratford-on-Avon and elsewhere resolved to build a theatre in London.

"The times, however, were moral, and no one would imperil his soul so
far as to give them a site.

"One night, they met in despair, when suddenly the room was illumined
by lightning, and they saw the devil in the midst of them.

"He has always been a large proprietor in London, and he had come to
strike a bargain with them. They could have as many sites as they
chose, on one condition. Every year they must send him a dramatist.

"You see he was willing to take his chance of the players.

"The compact was made, and up to the present time it has been
religiously kept. But this year, as the day drew near, found the
managers very uneasy. They did what they could. They forwarded the
best man they had."

"What happened?" asked Andrew, breathlessly.

"The devil sent him back," said the president.

CHAPTER VI

It was one Sunday forenoon, on such a sunny day as slovenly men seize
upon to wash their feet and have it over, that Andrew set out to call
on Mr. Labouchere.

The leaves in the squares were green, and the twittering of the birds
among the boughs was almost gay enough to charm him out of the severity
of countenance which a Scotchman wears on a Sunday with his blacks.

Andrew could not help regarding the mother-of-pearl sky as a favourable
omen. Several times he caught himself becoming light-hearted.

He got the great Radical on the door-step, just setting out for church.

The two men had not met before, but Andrew was a disciple in the school
in which the other taught.

Between man and man formal introductions are humbug.

Andrew explained in a few words the nature of his visit, and received a
cordial welcome.

"But I could call again," he said, observing the hymn-book in the
other's hand.

"Nonsense," said Mr. Labouchere heartily; "it must be business before
pleasure. Mind the step."

So saying, he led his visitor into a cheerful snuggery at the back of
the house. It was furnished with a careful contempt for taste, and the
first thing that caught Andrew's eye was a pot of apple jam on a side
table.

"I have no gum," Mr. Labouchere explained hastily.

A handsomely framed picture, representing Truth lying drowned at the
bottom of a well, stood on the mantel-piece; indeed, there were many
things