ency; in return, the Adventure and Romance Agency undertakes
to surround him with startling and weird events. As a man is leaving his
front door, an excited sweep approaches him and assures him of a plot
against his life; he gets into a cab, and is driven to an opium den; he
receives a mysterious telegram or a dramatic visit, and is immediately
in a vortex of incidents. A very picturesque and moving story is first
written by one of the staff of distinguished novelists who are at
present hard at work in the adjoining room. Yours, Major Brown (designed
by our Mr Grigsby), I consider peculiarly forcible and pointed; it is
almost a pity you did not see the end of it. I need scarcely explain
further the monstrous mistake. Your predecessor in your present house,
Mr Gurney-Brown, was a subscriber to our agency, and our foolish clerks,
ignoring alike the dignity of the hyphen and the glory of military rank,
positively imagined that Major Brown and Mr Gurney-Brown were the same
person. Thus you were suddenly hurled into the middle of another man's
story."

"How on earth does the thing work?" asked Rupert Grant, with bright and
fascinated eyes.

"We believe that we are doing a noble work," said Northover warmly. "It
has continually struck us that there is no element in modern life that
is more lamentable than the fact that the modern man has to seek all
artistic existence in a sedentary state. If he wishes to float into
fairyland, he reads a book; if he wishes to dash into the thick of
battle, he reads a book; if he wishes to soar into heaven, he reads a
book; if he wishes to slide down the banisters, he reads a book. We
give him these visions, but we give him exercise at the same time, the
necessity of leaping from wall to wall, of fighting strange gentlemen,
of running down long streets from pursuers--all healthy and pleasant
exercises. We give him a glimpse of that great morning world of Robin
Hood or the Knights Errant, when one great game was played under the
splendid sky. We give him back his childhood, that godlike time when we
can act stories, be our own heroes, and at the same instant dance and
dream."

Basil gazed at him curiously. The most singular psychological discovery
had been reserved to the end, for as the little business man ceased
speaking he had the blazing eyes of a fanatic.

Major Brown received the explanation with complete simplicity and good
humour.

"Of course; awfully dense, sir," he said. "No dou