find them now, those friends and boon companions
of my Bohemian days? Here, there, and everywhere--perhaps nowhere!
Some I see trotting briskly along the high-road of life, others
dragging wearily through its tangled bypaths. Yet again others resting
under a big, cold stone that bears an inscription and a couple of
dates, fixed just above their heads.

II.

I well remember a certain "barriere" that protected the level crossing
just outside the Malines Station. It was but an ordinary piece of
hinged timber, but we, that is, du Maurier and I, can never forget it;
for, as we stood by its side we vowed that come what might, we would
never travel along that line and past the old gate without recalling
that summer evening and re-thinking the thoughts of our early days.

It was also there, one evening, that we adopted our
never-to-be-forgotten aliases--Rag and Bobtail. We had chanced upon a
chum of ours named Sprenk lounging across that old barriere, and some
fortuitous circumstance having revealed the fact that his initials
were T.A.G., we forthwith dubbed him Tag. Out of that very naturally
grew the further development: Rag, Tag, and Bobtail.

T.A.G. was an Englishman, strong and hearty and considerably taller
than either of us. That alone would have sufficed to secure him
the friendship of du Maurier, who ever worshipped at the shrine
of physical greatness. He loved to look up to the man of
six-foot-something, or to sit in the shadow of the woman of commanding
presence, his appreciation of size culminating in the love of "Chang,"
that dog of dogs, whom we have all learnt to admire, as we followed
his career through the volumes of the immortal Weekly, presided over
by Toby and his master.

I somehow associate Tag with whisky and water; not that he took it
much or often, but he gave one the impression that whatever others
might do when amongst the benighted foreigner, he, for one, would not
let a good old English custom drop into disuse. Looking at Tag one
intuitively felt that his father before him had taken his moderate
glass of W. and W., and that, if he married and had sons, they would
do likewise. I do not think that he was particularly fond of art
or artists, unless inasmuch as they were brother Bohemians. He was
engaged, or, at least, he was generally just about to be engaged, in
some business, and whilst waiting for the opportune moment to commence
operations, he would settle down to an expectant present