Mortal Coils

Café Bomba, and was successful in bullying and cajoling the manager into giving fifty persons dinner at twelve shillings a head, including wine. He sent out invitations and collected subscription

listen to the old man's endless stories about Asia Minor and the Great Exhibition of

ecretly at the heart. A little miscellaneous furniture, including a bed, a washstand and chest of drawers, a table and one or two chairs, lurked in the obscure corners of the den or ventured furtively out into the open. Hither Spode now came almost every day, bringing the old man news of the progress of the banquet scheme. Every day he found Mr. Tillotson sitting in the same place under the window, bathing

g. "It's not as if I had forgotten who you were.

ittle laugh, and, pointing out of the

ith good sight. It's the place for lo

usual, and Mr. Tillotson punctually made his little j

the joke had died away, "to-morrow you make your re-entry i

exhausted ten pounds that stood between him and the workhouse. "What an amazing piece of good fortune, for instance, that you should have found me just when you did. Now, this dinner will bring me back to

uckered into a smile, and nodded hi

aid Spode, and immediately flushed f

r too cheerful a mood to ha

859. The 'Origin of Species' changed my views, you know. No life to come for me, t

u know how middle-aged one is as a schoolboy and un

that Mr. Tillotson had not been listening. He made a note of the gamb

bout the 'Origin of

. Tillotson, wak

t on your faith,

rain of thought. Oh, it was a bad time for religion. I am glad my master Haydon never lived to see it. He was a man of fervour. I remember him pacing up and down his studio in Lisson Grove, singing and shouting and praying all at on

pe of having his paradox appreciated this time. But Mr

e to see those ankles." He laughed like a cracked bell-one of those little old bells, Spode fancied, that ring, with much rattling of wires, in the far-off servants quarters of ancient houses. "And very soon," Mr. Tillotson went on, "I shall be painting again. Ah, Mr. Spode, my luck is extraordinary. I believe in it, I trust in it. And after all, what is luck? Simply another name for Providence, in spite of the Origin of Sp

og, Mr. T

ime when I told my poor great master Haydon-in joke, of course-that he ought to send in a cartoon of King John dying of a surfeit of lampreys for the frescoes

d house; a ghostly hand pulling the cord in the drawing-ro

. But oh, it was a terrible blow when they rejected his design, a t

ness, waving his arms in ceaseless and futile activity, never resting in his efforts to scare away the birds that were always trying to settle in his mind. And what birds! widewinged and beautiful, all those serene thoughts and faiths and emotions that only visit minds that have humbled themselves to quiet. Those gracious visitants he was for ever using all his energies to dr

once," he said. "They're sur

tson did not possess a dress-suit. It was hopeless to think of getting

it, Mr. Tillotson. I ought to

was a little chagrined by this u

ery surprisingly rose to the occasion. "Ask Boreham to com

generation after generation, in the houses of the great.

gery. It was a comforting theory. "Ah, here he is. H

t I stopped wearing in let me see

t grateful, Boreham, if you could lend

arm a very old black suit. He held up the coat and trouser

u've no idea how easy things get stained with grease and grav

ne so." Spode w

r caref

al light they'll

repeated. "Thank you, Boreham; you

I'm sure." And the old m

way of shirts and collars. Owing to the darkness and his own feeble sight Mr. Tillotson was happily unaware of the defects in the suit. He was in a state of

ake it easy. We needn't start t

a couple of candles, and, blinking myopically at the image that fronted him in the tiny looking-glass that stood on his chest of drawers, he set to

mming to himself the gay song which h

Anna, Mar

ourine, the cymba

ining on his face was to deepen every line and wrinkle with intense black shadow; he looked immeasurably old. It was a noble and pathetic head. On the other hand, Boreham's out-worn evening-suit was simply buffoonish. The coat was too long in the sleeves and the tail; the trousers bagged in elephantine creases about his ankles. Some of the grease-spots were visib

the bones," Mr. Tillotson concluded in a gn

had been made for me. I am all gratitude to the gentleman who was kind enough to lend it to me; I shall take the greatest

r waistcoat." He unbuttoned the dissipated ga

le piqued at being found

from his valet. "It's all right, you know; I can do it myself

Spode began tentatively. But t

tie a tie, Mr. Spode. The tie's al

e your

, you know, for services rendered in the Russo-Turkish War. It's the Order of Chastity, the second class. They only give the first class to crowned heads, you

of course,

ht, Mr. Spode?" Mr. Tillotso

tson-splendid. The O

is borrowed suit fits me very well. But I don't like borrowing clothes. For lo

those horrible beet

he said, and stamped on a small piece of coal, which crunched

t the sight of Spode and Mr. Tillotson emerging from the house a yell of mingled awe and derision went up. It subsided to an astonished silence as they climbed into the car. "Bomba's," Spode directed. The Rolls-Royce gave a faintly stertorous sigh and began to