might be, he quite approved of such rapid appraisement of a year or so's labour.

None the less, since none of us are polar, on the historic morning which made him an author indeed he bought all the papers and searched them with a microscopic eye, and an hour or so later he bought the evening papers too; but there was no review. Two or three confessed to having received the book, and that was all.

That evening, however, although he had drawn the papers blank, a letter came from the excellent Romeike asking Rudd if he might not supply cuttings regarding a book which was already being written about on all sides-or words to that seductive effect. And Rudd invested.

His own people wrote quickly—but not too quickly. None of them indulged in that swift manœuvre, so trying to an author, of saying that they were certain to enjoy his delightful volume.

Helen, of course, he did not wish to hear from, except orally; her pride in the book was assured even though she would never be able to pass even an elementary examination on its contents.

Mrs. Sergison was proud too, but found much of it too clever. Yet how wonderful to have made this great volume out of old book-shops! They had always struck her as such dirty places, and it was a miracle that Rudd, after rummaging about in so many, had escaped disease. Old books must be such vehicles for the conveyance of infection. When there

was scarlet fever or anything like that in the house, so many people, she was sure, rather than go to the trouble of having all the books baked, sold them. She had read The Literary Nimrod all through and could not sufficiently admire her son's cleverness. Bless him, and might he prosper and be very happy.

Mr. Sergison was approving too. He thought it an entertaining book, a little perhaps too much on the light side. He hoped that Rudd had a good agreement with his publisher. One must be careful about publishers. Was it not Byron who said that Barabbas was a publisher? His own dealings with secondhand booksellers had not been fortunate, the price they offered for a number of valuable Blue Books being scandalous. Still it might be that there were secondhand booksellers and second-hand booksellers. If Rudd anticipated a new edition Mr. Sergison could supply him with a number of corrections. Had he been asked, it would have amused him to read the proofs and prevent all these errors. He thought that the booksellers mentioned in the book owed Rudd a great debt, and hoped that some at any rate would recognize this.

Uncle Ben could not have been more delighted if he had written the book himself. He, too, subscribed to Romeike, and treasured every reference.

Lavis was more critical, but, on the whole, pleased. "You are a good boy," Voaden wrote, "to send me your book. I have read every word. It is good, and you will do better. Whatever you do, never

take an opinion or valuation second-hand, and above all never try to write like anyone else, especially Lang. Come and see me."

The first review, and taking it all round the best, was in The Post-Meridian. But this Rudd dismissed as nepotism. Yet even the most nepotic can, of course, stumble on truth now and again. This early notice having done something towards giving the book publicity, Rudd received three letters from well-to-do friends asking where their presentation copies were. Several second-hand booksellers wrote to complain of being left out, and insisted on being mentioned in the next edition; while the widow of a deceased member of the trade asked for the loan of fifteen pounds for six months, or any gift of money which so successful an author might be moved to send her.

Rudd also had two or three letters from strangers who would be glad to be informed as to which bookseller gave the highest prices for old books. Was there any demand for sermons and theology? Did it matter very much if three or four coloured plates from The Life of John Mytton had been lost?

In course of time the rest of the reviews appeared, and they were all more or less friendly. With the assistance of discreet elimination Rudd's publisher could indeed make each of them intensely eulogistic; and as a matter of fact he did so. Thus, the Chronicle said that "if it were not for certain blemishes it would be a really good book." In his next advertisement the publisher, who always himself attended to this depart

ment, attributed to the Chronicle's reviewer the four last words only. On discovering this subterfuge Rudd was indignant, and the publisher said that it should not occur again: some clerks were over-zealous.

One of the nicest reviews, in that it had nothing but praise, was in The Crusader. Rudd thought it a little fulsome, perhaps, but it warmed him none the less. A day or so later came a note from Gard, whom he had never seen since that night, years ago, asking him to look in again one evening and smoke a pipe. What a memory the fellow had! "I do not say anything about your delightful book," Gard added, "because you may have noticed my honest opinion of it in The Crusader."

"Now," said Uncle Ben, "you must write a novel." "Yes," said Rudd "I feel at last that I really want to. But I must wait till after the wedding."

"What will it be about?" Uncle Ben asked.

"The rich and the poor," said Rudd.

HELEN

CHAPTER XLII

THE KNEES OF THE GODS

ELEN was comfortably seated in a corner seat, talking to Uncle Ben at the window. Rudd and Lavis paced the platform.

It was the afternoon of the wedding day and the young couple were off to Cornwall for their honey

moon.

Rudd wanted Innisfree, but there are better links near Mullion, it seems.

"We'll see you when we get back?" Rudd said.

"I don't think so," said Lavis. "I believe I'm going away."

"Where?"

"Oh, back to Vancouver."

"That's very sudden," said Rudd in dismay. "Couldn't you wait a little? I've hardly seen you for months."

Lavis smiled but said nothing, and the doors began to be slammed.

Rudd entered his carriage.

"Good-bye," said Uncle Ben.

"Good-bye, good-bye," said Helen and her husband.