was like a red rag to a bull. You should make them into
copy--'Conspiracy in a Fifth Avenue Club,' etc."

"Thanks," said the other, "so I might. Valuable suggestion." And he
returned his note-book to his pocket.

"They did me a good turn, anyway," resumed Banborough. "They were
talking about my book--thought it would serve its purpose, was very
striking, said nothing better could be devised; and they were
foreigners, too. I tell you what it is, Marchmont, the public will wake
up to the merits of 'The Purple Kangaroo' some day. Why doesn't the
_Daily Leader_ notice it?"

"My dear Cecil, give me the space and I'll write a critique the fulsome
flattery of which will come up to even your exacting demands. But just
at present we're so busy arousing popular enthusiasm that we really
haven't time."

"You never do have time," replied Banborough, a trifle petulantly,
"except for sleeping after lunch."

"Ah, that's all in the day's work. But tell me. You're an Englishman;
why didn't you publish your book in your own country?"

"I may be green, but I don't impart confidences to an American
journalist."

"Nonsense! I never betray my friends' confidences when it's not worth--I
should say, out of business hours."

The Englishman laughed.

"Oh, if you don't think it worth while," he said, "I suppose there's no
danger, so I'll confess that my literary exile is purely to oblige my
father."

"The Bishop of Blanford?"

"The Bishop of Blanford, who has the bad taste to disapprove of 'The
Purple Kangaroo.'"

"Has he ever read it?"

"Of course not; the ecclesiastical mind is nothing if not dogmatic."

"My dear fellow, I was only trying to assign a reason."

"Chaff away, but it's principally my Aunt Matilda."

"The Bishop, I remember, is a widower."

"Rather. My aunt keeps house for him."

"Ah, these aunts!" exclaimed the journalist. "They make no end of
trouble--and copy."

"It's not so bad as that," said Cecil; "but she rules the governor with
a rod of iron, and she kicked up such a row about my book that I dropped
the whole show."

"Don't correspond with 'em?"

"Not on my side. I receive occasional sermons from Blanford."

"Which remain unanswered?"

Cecil nodded, and changed the subject.

"You know my father's cathedral?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. The verger prevented my chipping off a bit of the high altar
as a memento the last time I was over. You English are so beastly
conservative. Not that the Bishop had