ffled. "You, it
appears, need your money--or rather, my money--and I can not gainsay the
moral claim. You have attended to my simple wants in a manner beyond
praise, and I would cheerfully pay you your weight in gold (after the
pleasing custom in the East) had I the precious ore. But at the moment
my capital"--he searched his pockets--"amounts to sixpence ha'penny;
hence the deplorable _impasse_. My profession holds out no prospect of
immediate or adequate reward: briefs are lacking and editors slow to
recognize merit. I have pawned such of my wardrobe as is not necessary
to support the illusion of an independent gentleman. What do you suggest
as a solution of our difficulties? It is repugnant to both of us that I
should live on your charity. I am open to any bright idea."

Unluckily the landlady was not an imaginative woman. She could suggest
nothing, save that Lionel should pay his rent or leave. The method of
raising money was left entirely to him, but the necessity was insisted
on in forcible terms.

"An ultimatum?" said the lodger thoughtfully. "Well, I can not blame
you. As you have no illuminating schemes, Mrs. Barker, I must rely on
myself. But rest assured that you shall be paid. What! I am young and
strong; my clothes, thanks to judicious mending and a light hand with
the brush, will pass muster; we are in London, the richest city in the
world. I will go out and look for a fairy godmother."

At this resolve Mrs. Barker broke into cries of protest. With a feminine
distrust of her own sex she declared that no such creature should pass
her threshold. For fifty years she had lived respectable, and it was her
firm intention to die in the same persuasion. Lionel raised a
deprecating hand.

"You mistake me," he said in gentle reproof. "It was but a manner of
speaking inspired by the recollection of Cinderella. Being, however,
the masculine equivalent of that lady of romance (or shall we say, 'Lob
Lie-by-the-Fire'?) and out of deference to your sense of propriety, I
will strive to acquire a fairy godfather. Till to-morrow, then, Mrs.
Barker."

He rose and politely held the door open. The landlady, carrying the tray
and table-cloth, left the room in dudgeon.

As soon as she had gone Lionel's face lost something of its optimism,
and he began to whistle a tune in a minor key. It was a music-hall
refrain, originally scored in quick time and the major clef, a gay lilt
of the streets. Modulated by Lionel, under the d