ng for the first time, "and may I
ask who will pay for the inestimable privilege of placing her among the
quality?"

The irony in St. John's voice did not go unnoticed by Gay, but he
continued bravely.

"I will, if her mother won't."

"You? My good friend, you can scarce keep yourself. But 'tis like you to
add to the burden of debt round your neck rather than reduce it. Have
you been left a fortune? Have your dead South Sea Shares come back to
life?"

"Nay, Bolingbroke, don't remind me of my folly," rejoined Gay, a little
piqued. "We can't always be wise. Thou thyself--but let that pass, the
future is the foundation of hope. Before long I shall be in funds. The
'Fables' will be in the booksellers' hands ere the month is out."

"Oh, that's well. But the booksellers, though eager enough to sell their
wares, are not so ready to pay the writer his due. Moreover if I know
anything of John Gay, of a certainty all the money he puts in his pocket
will go out of the hole at the other end."

"I know--I know," rejoined the poet hastily. "But I'm not thinking alone
of the booksellers. It is a 'place' I shall have and an annual income
that will sweep away all my anxieties."

"Then you're in favour with the Princess and her obedient servant Sir
Robert--or is Walpole her master? What will the Dean of St. Patrick and
Mr. Pope say to your surrender?"

"No, no. I will never write a word in praise of either. There's not a
word in the 'Fables' that can be twisted into bolstering up the
Government."

"And you think to receive your comfortable 'place' out of pure
admiration of your poetical gifts? My poor Gay!"

"No. Friendship."

"Well, well, you must go your own way or you wouldn't be a poet. I leave
you to your commendable work of rescuing damsels in distress."

And after refreshing himself with a pinch of snuff Bolingbroke with a
wave of the hand to Gay and his friends strode from the room leaving the
poet with his pleasant face somewhat overcast.

But his chagrin did not last long. His natural buoyancy asserted itself
and he beckoned to Lavinia who was sitting primly on the edge of the
hard chair, her folded hands resting on her lap. Before she could cross
the room Spiller and Leveridge took up Bolingbroke's argument, and urged
Gay not to meddle further in the matter.

"Nay, why should I not? It would be a shame and a pity that so much good
talent should be wasted on the groundlings of St. Giles. Besides, there
is the