r!" agreed Mr. Marrier, submissive.

II

"Sole proprietor of the Regent Theatre."

These were the words which Edward Henry wrote on a visiting-card
and which procured him immediate admittance to the unique
spectacle--reputed to be one of the most enthralling sights in
London--of Sir John Pilgrim at breakfast.

In a very spacious front-room of his flat (so celebrated for its
Gobelins tapestries and its truly wonderful parquet-flooring) sat Sir
John Pilgrim at a large hexagonal mahogany table. At one side of the
table a small square of white diaper was arranged, and on this square
were an apparatus for boiling eggs, another for making toast, and
a third for making coffee. Sir John, with the assistance of a young
Chinaman and a fox-terrier, who flitted around him, was indeed eating
and drinking. The vast remainder of the table was gleamingly bare,
save for newspapers and letters opened and unopened which Sir John
tossed about. Opposite to him sat a secretary whose fluffy hair,
neat white _chemisette_, and tender years gave her an appearance of
helpless fragility in front of the powerful and ruthless celebrity.
Sir John's crimson-socked left foot stuck out from the table, emerging
from the left half of a lovely new pair of brown trousers, and resting
on a piece of white paper. Before this white paper knelt a man in a
frock-coat who was drawing an outline on the paper round Sir John's
foot.

"You _are_ a bootmaker, aren't you?" Sir John was saying airily.

"Yes, Sir John."

"Excuse me!" said Sir John. "I only wanted to be sure. I fancied from
the way you caressed my corn with that pencil that you might be an
artist on one of the illustrated papers. My mistake!" He was bending
down. Then suddenly straightening himself he called across the room:
"I say, Givington, did you notice my pose then--my expression as I
used the word 'caressed'? How would that do?"

And Edward Henry now observed in a corner of the room a man, standing
in front of an easel and sketching somewhat grossly thereon in
charcoal. This man said:

"If you won't bother me, Sir John, I won't bother you."

"Ah! Givington! Ah! Givington!" murmured Sir John still more
airily--at breakfast he was either airy or nothing. "You're getting
on in the world. You aren't merely an A.R.A.;--you're making money! A
year ago you'd never have had the courage to address me in that tone.
Well, I sincerely congratulate you.... Here, Snip, here's my dentist's
bill