e equalled even the
great Harold Etches, of whom he had once been afraid; and like Etches he
became a famous _habitue_ of Llandudno pier. But whereas Etches
lived with his wife in a superb house at Bleakridge, Denry lived with
his mother in a ridiculous cottage in ridiculous Brougham Street. He had
a regiment of acquaintances and he accepted a lot of hospitality, but he
could not return it at Brougham Street. His greatness fizzled into
nothing in Brougham Street. It stopped short and sharp at the corner of
St Luke's Square, where he left his cabs. He could do nothing with his
mother. If she was not still going out as a sempstress the reason was,
not that she was not ready to go out, but that her old clients had
ceased to send for her. And could they be blamed for not employing at
three shillings a day the mother of a young man who wallowed in
thousands sterling? Denry had essayed over and over again to instil
reason into his mother, and he had invariably failed. She was too
independent, too profoundly rooted in her habits; and her character had
more force than his. Of course, he might have left her and set up a
suitably gorgeous house of his own.

But he would not.

In fact, they were a remarkable pair.

On this eve of her birthday he had meant to cajole her into some step,
to win her by an appeal, basing his argument on her indisposition. But
he was being beaten off once more. The truth was that a cajoling,
caressing tone could not be long employed towards Mrs Machin. She was
not persuasive herself, nor; favourable to persuasiveness in others.

"Well," said she, "if you're making two thousand a year, ye can spend it
or save it as ye like, though ye'd better save it. Ye never know what
may happen in these days. There was a man dropped half-a-crown down a
grid opposite only the day before yesterday."

Denry laughed.

"Ay!" she said; "ye can laugh."

"There's no doubt about one thing," he said, "you ought to be in bed.
You ought to stay in bed for two or three days at least."

"Yes," she said. "And who's going to look after the house while I'm
moping between blankets?"

"You can have Rose Chudd in," he said.

"No," said she. "I'm not going to have any woman rummaging about my
house, and me in bed."

"You know perfectly well she's been practically starving since her
husband died, and as she's going out charing, why can't you have her and
put a bit of bread into her mouth?"

"Because I won't have her! Neithe