come something of an enthusiast. Where Art left him, we have seen. Was this the fault of Art? No.

He wanted long education and years of patient toil to paint even moderately well. This he did not know, and nobody but Kate had ever told him so.

Let us do him justice. He never thought himself a genius; but he believed in his energy, in his determination to succeed, and thought some way would be found by himself. He did not want to be shown the way, or to be helped by any friend of his prosperous days. His desire to be independent, and work his own way, was a sort of vanity; but it is not uncommon. I know a rich man who would rather earn a single guinea than that the goddess of Good Luck should shower a hundred into his pocket from the clouds. This was Frank's state of mind too.

He had made an entry of the address of the Agency in his pocket-book, and called the waiter to him; when the thought flashed across his mind that he had forgotten, when he ordered his breakfast, that his pockets were empty. He explained his predicament to the waiter, and offered to leave his watch with the proprietor. It was, he said, the only thing of value he had about him, except the guard.

The man saw he was a gentleman, and begged not to trouble about the matter, but pay him any day when he was passing.

"It is the easiest thing in the world," thought Frank, "for a man who always has had money in his pocket, to walk into a shop, and quite forget he has none."

He came to a pawnbroker's, and he thought he had better pawn his watch and chain at once. He must have some money.

There was a shop window full of plate and jewellery: in a side street was an open doorway, revealing a row of little doors. Frank guessed what these cabinets were, but he was some few minutes before he could make up his mind to go in. He looked at the costly things in the window-he walked past the doorway; at last, looking cautiously up the street and down the street, as if he were about to commit a burglary, and was afraid of the policeman who might be round the corner, he plunged into one of the little boxes, falling on an old woman who was haggling with the shopman for sixpence more than she had got last time on a pair of sheets.

Frank flushed in his confusion, apologized,

and tried the next cabinet. This was empty; and here, trying to look as if he had often done it before, he put down his watch and chain on the counter with the grace of a roué, and waited his turn.

The man examined his watch, asked if it was in going order, weighed his chain, and smiled as he leered at him through his spectacles.

Frank, despite his efforts, looked so completely innocent.

"How much?"

Frank hesitated before he answered.
"How much will you lend me?"
"Tell me how much you want?"
"Well, a fiver."

"All right. These aint been in before, young gentleman."

"How do you know?" asked Frank, blushing.

He felt very much ashamed of the meanness of the transaction he was engaged in.

"We've got a private mark in the trade we put on everything that comes in," said the man; and Frank believed him.

He began to write out the ticket. "What name?"

"Must I give it?"

"Not unless you like. Any name 'll do. Mr. Smith, of Piccadilly, it generally is. Will that do?"

Frank nodded.

"Got fourpence? For the ticket, you know."

The poor boy blushed scarlet.

"All right, my lad: there you are. Four" -he dashed down the sovereigns-"nineteen, eight."

Frank put the money and the ticket in his pocket, and went back to pay for his breakfast.

Then he made his way to the Agency.

The proprietor had not come, but his clerk told Frank he had a very good list of appointments "suitable for any gentleman to take."

Frank was glad to hear this, and asked for some particulars about the secretaryship advertised.

"Our fee for entering a name is a sovereign-over a hundred and fifty a-year-half a sovereign under it. This secretaryship is three hundred. Fine Arts Company (Limited). The governor's in it, and it'll soon be got up."

To the credit of Frank Melliship's common sense, I record the fact that he did not

pay the sovereign, but asked the fellow what they meant by their advertisement. He had a copy of it in his book, and he read it out. The clerk was evidently of an irritable temperament. Perhaps they often had a row in the office. He was rude to Frank. He turned on his heel and left the counter, with the words

"P'raps you know gentlemen as hasn't got a sovereign. Coming here wasting our time and kicking up a row!"

The being was too contemptible to thrash, but his remark opened Frank's eyes to the position of things. That such a little cad dared insult him!

He turned into a bye-street, and looked for a quiet corner where he could sit and curse fate. But there was none. So he cursed fate as he walked along.

After walking for half an hour or so, he began to pull himself together.

"Swearing will not help, at any rate. Something must be done, and that soon. I believe I am getting hungry again. What a misfortune to have such a twist. Poverty may be invigorating, but it's unpleasant. I don't think I'm strong enough to take the medicine. As for taking money from Dick, that, of course, is out of the question."

He was walking along a West-end street, and saw at a door a brass plate, with "University and Scholastic Agency" upon it.

"Let us try the schools. Perhaps they won't ask for a sovereign," he said, and went in.

They did not. The agent, a man of extremely affable and polished manners, invited Frank to sit down, and asked him what he could do.

"Tell me candidly. I've got plenty of places."

"I've taken a poll degree at Cambridge. I know very little Latin or Greek, and no mathematics."

"Bad," said the agent. "Any French?" "Oh, French of course. And-and I can paint and draw."

"A good cricketer? Anything of an oar?" "Yes-rowed five in the first college

down at that table, and put down all you can do. First-class poll, I think you said." "No-last. I just scraped through."

"Well, never mind. Sit down and write." "So" he read over Frank's modest list of accomplishments-"I will find-it is now July the 10th-before the vacations are over, a really good opening for you."

"But I've had no experience in teaching." "What does that matter? Look at your experience in the field and on the river. Give me your address."

"I must find one first. I am-I am looking for lodgings; but I will send it you as soon as possible."

He came out of the office with a lightened heart. Something would be got: something unpleasant, naturally-because the order of things allots all unpleasant things to poor men-but still, the means of life. In a few minutes he was perfectly happy in his new prospects-just as a drowning man is happy to find a plank even if he is in mid-ocean, with no ship in sight.

sure.

Then, a sudden reflection dashed his pleaHe was to have his new post when the summer vacation was over. How was he to live till then? If on his wardrobe, there would be no possibility of presenting a respectable exterior; and his watch and chain would not go very far.

He put his hand into his empty pocket, and pulled out the card which he had taken from the Jewish gentleman the night before. "By Jove! it's Bighead's card. I'll go and see him."

It bore the name of Mr. Emanuel Leweson, and an address in Brunswick-square.

Thither Frank bent his steps, tired and fagged with the long walking about he had had. A cab, of course, was not to be thought of.

He sent in his card-Mr. Leweson was at home-and in a few minutes found himself again in the presence of his acquaintance of the evening before.

Mr. Leweson looked more big-headed than ever, sitting over a late breakfast—it was half-past twelve-in a light dressinggown. He had been breakfasting luxuriously. The table was covered with fruit and flowers. He was drinking Rhine wine from a long flask.

"Come in, Mr. Melliship-since that is your name. I am glad to see you-very glad. Take a glass of wine, and sit down. And now," he said, finishing his breakfast,

and lighting a cigar, "let us talk business. Tell me as much as you like about yourself, Mr. Melliship. The more the better."

Frank told him as much as he thought advisable.

"So-no money; expensive tastes; habits of a gentleman; no special knowledge; art and music. Now, Mr. Melliship, do you know what I am?"

"No; something theatrical, I should say." "That is because I wear a velvet coat, and breakfast off fruit and Rhine wine, I suppose? No. You are not far wrong, however. I am a musical composer by nature; the owner and manager of a London music hall by will of a malignant fate. Yes, young man-in me you see the proprietor of the North London Palace of Amusements." He waved his hand as he spoke, as if deprecating the other's contempt.

"I know, I know. They sing 'Rollicking Rams' and 'Champagne Charlie'-not a bad air, that last-and we are altogether a degraded and degrading place. But we must pay, dear sir, we must pay. I do more than the rest of them, because I always try to get something good. For instance, I've got you."

"I don't know that you have," said Frank, laughing. The big-headed man amused him tremendously.

"You will come and sing two songs every evening-allowing yourself to be encored for one only, because time is precious. You will thus gain confidence, as well as three guineas a-week. I intend to push you, and we shall have you on the boards of the Royal Italian before many years. Then you will remember with gratitude that I brought

that I brought out the music of my opera there, and they hissed it? Then I engaged the Inexpressible Jones, placarded all London, gave them 'Rollicking Rams' and the rest of it, and the people all came back again. Dolts, asses, idiots!"

He banged his head with his fist at every epithet, and then put on his hat-an enormous brigand's hat-with a scowl of revenge and hatred. Then he burst out laughing, and led the way out.

They took a Hansom from the stand. "How I wish you could do trapeze business," said Mr. Leweson. "I suppose you can't, by any chance?”

"No-I'm afraid not."

"You could act so well with Giulia. The poor girl has only got her father and little Joe to fall back on. It would tell immensely if we could put you in. The talented Silvani family. Signor Pietro Silvani, Signor Francesco, and the Divine Giulia. A brilliant idea just occurred to me-a combination of them. The Signor at the bottom, with rings instead of a bar; you on his shoulders; Giulia on yours. Giulia is left at the first trapeze; you at the second; the undaunted head of the family goes on to the last. Bless you, Giulia wouldn't be afraid! She's afraid of nothing, that girl. But then, if you can't do it, you can't, of course. After all, it might spoil your career as a tenor. Don't. let us think of it. Where do you live?" Frank turned red.

"I'm looking for lodgings now." "Oh! Well, then, the best thing you can do is to go to Mrs. Skimp's. She's cheap, and tolerably good. Here we are, sir, at the Palace, where every evening the British public may receive, at the ridiculous price of one shilling, the highest form of amusement compatible with their stage of civilization. Here's the stage door. That is your door. I am busy to-day, and cannot give you any more time. Take my card, and show it to Mrs. Skimp. That will do for an introduction; and for the present, at least, you can stay there. And come round here to-morrow at one. Good-bye. Take care of your throat."

is two houses converted into one by knocking a door through the partition wall on each floor. Everybody in the neighbourhood knows it, for Mrs. Skimp has been there a good many years. Frank asked the way to Granville-square at a baker's shop: it happened to be Mrs. Skimp's baker.

"This little b'y's just going there, sir," the woman behind the counter said, very curtly. "He will show you the way. What number might you want, sir?" "Thirty-three."

"Thirty-three and thirty-four. Mrs. Skimp's, sir," said the woman, her face brightening up at the prospect of three extra loaves a-week being wanted. "That's the house the little b'y's going to."

of good position. I quite understand, sir. Our circle is small and select. Terms from twenty-two and six, according to the room. Was it the Telegraph or the Times, sir?” asked this voluble personage.

"Neither, madam," said Frank. "Mr. Leweson recommended me to see you on the subject."

"Very kind, indeed, of Mr. Leweson. We know him quite well, my dear-do we not? A very agreeable gentleman, and quite the artiste. Such ears!"

Frank looked at her in surprise. He thought she alluded to the size of them; but no, it was a tribute to his musical genius. Mrs. Skimp, as the reader has already discovered, kept a cheap boarding-house.

In three minutes they were in the square. It was an oblong really, and not so wide as Regent's Quadrant; but it had a badly kept strip of garden in the middle. The houses were plastered over; and, with two or three exceptions, wanted a coat of paint as badly as houses could. Mrs. Skimp's was an exception. It was a house of three storeys, and attics in the roof. Over the doors were lamps slightly projecting from the pane of glass that let light into the hall; and on these, in huge gilt figures, 33 and 34 blazed in the sun. They were repeated again on the door.

The boy pulled the area bell, and pointed to the knocker and then to Frank, when a dirty servant came out at the basement door to take in the bread.

Frank's knock remained a minute unanswered; but he saw the lace curtains of the window move, and caught sight of a face -apparently a young lady's-peeping at him over the blind.

Then the servant came and showed him into a room, evidently the dining-room.

Here he had to wait while Mrs. Skimp and her daughter "put themselves to rights." Presently they came in together. Mrs. Skimp was tall, and of rather pleasing appearance. Her daughter was short and stout, and decidedly uninteresting.

"She takes after my lamented husband, the late Mr. Skimp," her mother often said. "She is quite unlike my family."

She read Frank's name on Mr. Leweson's card, and showed him the bed-rooms then at her disposal, expatiating in glowing terms on the advantages of living in such a neighbourhood as Granville-square-and particularly with such a family as Mrs. Skimp's.

"We have the key of the square, for the use of the boarders, sir," she said.

Frank could not help contrasting, in his own mind, the key of the square offered by Mrs. Skimp with the key of the street so lately in his possession.

There certainly is some difference between the two.

His interview with Mrs. Skimp was short and satisfactory. Anybody who came with Mr. Leweson's recommendation was received by her with great pleasure. She was about forty-five years of age, a widow with one daughter, Clara. She was born to become fat and comfortable; but nature's intentions wère so far frustrated by the hard conditions of life that she had become fat, but by no means looked comfortable, having an air of anxiety which came from an eternal effort to bring her bills within the compass of her income. She was short-winded, because the stairs, up and down which she ran all day long, had made her so. She held her hand upon her heart, not because she suffered from any palpitation, but from a habit she had contracted after her husband's death. It indicated resignation and sorrow. Her

"I desire to-to-"