m the Star. Yes, laddie, I have
at last a shop, for one night only. My fee--seven-and-sixpence and
tram-fares. All other services gratuitous. No platform. No auditorium.
Just a little old sit-round, drinking limp coffee and eating anaemic
pastry, and listening. Come?"

I said I would, and we adventured along the dreary Wandsworth Road, down
the evil-smelling Lavender Hill, into the strenuous endeavour of Clapham
Junction. It was gay with lights and shoppers and parading monkeys.
Above us hung a pallid, frosty sky. No stars; no moon; but down in the
streets, warmth and cheer and companionship. We called at the blazing,
bustling "Falcon," which is much more like a railway-junction than the
station itself, and did ourselves a little bit of good, as my
professional friend put it. Then we mounted to the gas-lit room where
the fun was to take place. We wandered down long, stark passages,
seeking our door. We heard voices, but we saw no door.

"Harold," said some one, "sometimes wish you wasn't quite such a fool."

"What's the matter now, Freddie?" asked A Voice.

"Why, you know very well it's ten to eight, and you ain't even pulled
the piano out."

"Gaw! Lucky you reminded me. Come on, old chew-the-fat, give us a hand
with the musical-box."

There were noises "off," from which it seemed that some one had put
something on top of something else. There were noises of some one
hitting a piece of wood with another piece of wood.

Then "Damn!" cried A Voice. "Steady on my feet, can't yeh? Bit more to
the right. Whoa! Up your end a bit. 'At's it. When was she tuned last?
Give us a scale."

Some one flourished, and then a bright door opened, and two young men in
shirt-sleeves with tousled brows, appeared.

"Laddie," cried my friend, dramatically, "is this the apartment for the
Young People's Society In Connection With The Falcon Road Miss----?"

"That's us!" cried, I imagine, Freddie.

"Then I am Victor Maulever."

"Oh, step inside, won't you. Bit early, I'm 'fraid. Mr. Diplock ain't
here yet. But come in. We got a fire going, and it's sort of turning
chilly out, eh?"

We stepped in, and Freddie introduced us. "Harold--this is Mr. Maulever,
the actor. Mr. Maulever, may I introduce our sec't'ry, Mr. Worple--Mr.
Harold Worple, I should say."

Mr. Worple came forward and shook hands. "'Scuse my shirt-sleeves, won't
you, sir?"

"Certainly, laddie, cer-tain-ly," said Victor, with that _empressement_
which has earned hi