homely type,
standing in a street off the Strand, in the Adelphi quarter. One must
speak thus indefinitely, since the whole face of the neighbourhood has
been transformed within recent years, and many a memory-laden house
demolished. At the "Magpie" the era of electric bells, elevators,
ostentation, had produced no effect, and within hail of many
_caravanserais_, where the pomp and circumstance of King Money might
have been seen in all its extravagance, the "Magpie" retained its
flavour of old-time cosiness and plainness.

It was a hotel much frequented by the better class of country visitors;
the London man of fashion never strayed within its portals. But here, by
reason of the retired situation of the place, the accommodation of the
rooms, and in some degree (we may suppose) the moderate terms, the
headquarters of the Pen and Pencil Club were situated. Less than three
hundred yards away, the Strand was a turgid stream of noises; here was
a backwater startlingly quiet.

Though certain of the vulgar upstarts, who manage to sneak into every
community of proper men, not excepting literary clubland, complained
that they could not get eatable food at the "Magpie," the members of the
club, as a whole, did eat with some heartiness whenever they assembled
around the board, which was twice a month during autumn and winter. Few
of the members turned up in evening dress; the average author does not
find it necessary to entirely expose his shirt-front when he sits down
to his evening meal. Something of the older Bohemianism hung, like
lavender in an ancient chest, about the Pen and Pencil Club; from which
it will be understood that it was not exactly the Bohemianism of dirty
clothes and stale beer, but rather that brotherliness which enables men
of kindred tastes and interests to dispense with the artificial
ceremonies of society.

Such was the spirit of the company to which Henry was introduced by his
friend at the "Magpie." The buzz of talk in the club-room dazed him a
little at first, and very timidly did he submit to be introduced to this
celebrity and to that. Most of the members and guests assembled were
standing talking familiarly, awaiting the summons to dinner.

"Let me introduce my friend Mr. Charles, of the _Watchman_, Mr. Angus
St. Clair," said Mr. P., thus mentioning the name of a world-famous
Scottish novelist, with whom Henry almost funked shaking hands.

Yet Mr. Sinclair was scarcely so impressive to gaze upon