ows of desks beyond,
and enquire 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 disappeared long ago, along 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
like 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, or I of my restless ambitions--chess
players never go far beyond the chequered board.

[Illustration: AT THIRTY.]

"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, drily. "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."

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

For awhile, 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 my manuscript