to shake hands with him, and the boys fought with them. Then,
when all had saluted him, each boy appropriated a girl. Those who were
known tucked arms in arms and marched off. Those who were strangers
approached deferentially, and said: "You got a friend, miss? If not ...
m'I see you home?" and were at once elected.

Victor and the Vicar and the President and myself remained behind till
the last, while Freddie and Harold "cleared up the mess," as they said.
Then Victor winked at the two boys, and lured them to the passage.
"Well, boys," he said, jingling his three half-crowns which had just
been paid him, "what about it? A short one at 'The Falcon'--what?"

They really blushed. The honour was too much. "Oh--really--well--very
kind of you, Mr. Maulever, I'm sure." They stammered through their hot
smiles, but they came along, and after the short one at "The Falcon"
they lingered a moment. They appeared nervous. It seemed that they had
something on their minds. Harold looked at Freddie and Freddie looked at
Harold, and Freddie said emphatically, "You." So Harold, very rapidly,
turned and said--

"I was going t'say, Mr. Maulever--I mean, would you--ah--might I ask if
you and your friend'd have another--with _us_?" He was obviously glad to
get it over.

Victor smiled. "Well, laddie, it's a cold night. Dammit, we _will_ have
another."

So we did. As a matter of fact, we had three others; and in the loud
passage of "The Falcon" we parted with the lads, who wrung Victor's
hand, and said he'd given them a delightful evening, and they hoped he'd
recite for their next Social, adding that he was a real sport.

I saw Victor to his 'bus, and as he leaped aboard he said he had enjoyed
himself. He turned half-way up the stairs to cry his customary
valediction.

"_Si longtemps_, old kiddo. Cling good and tight to the water-wagon!"

A WORKER'S NIGHT

THE ISLE OF DOGS

_THE WORK CHILD_

_I_

_Fair flakes of wilding rose
Entwine for Seventeen,
With lovely leaves of violet
That dares not live till fields forget
The grey that drest their green with snows,
And grow from grey to green._

_And when the wreath is twining,
Oh, prithee, have a care!
Weave in no bloom of subtle smell;
The simple ones she loves too well.
Let violets on her neck lie shining,
Wild rose in her hair._

_And bring her rose-winged fancies,
From shadowy sho