The herald., 1895-02-22
THE NOVELIST'S STORY

| am not great novelist, albeit a fairly
popular one. 1t is far better to be popu-
lar than great, and makes all the differ
ence to ones material comfort. A great
author is rarely appreciated, at least until
he is dead; whereas the popular one win
ters in the Riviera and has portraits of
his drawing-room furniture in the Strand
Magazine. Anyway, my work is in good
demand; commissions are plentful-so
plentiful lait summer that | rather over
did the thing, the natural consequence
being nervous irritability and a tendency
TO lie awake o. nights and, as a greater
writer than myself says, "That way mad
ness lies. "
"What you want, y remarked my doctor
who is one of those charming practi-
tioners who always prescribe exactly what
the patient most longs for-''is thorough
change. Give up work altogether for a
month go to some quiet, breezy spot
on the coast and simply live out of
doors.
had no difficulty in summoning up
enough will power to follow out this re-
quest. Solitude has no terrors for me.
packed up my bag and took the first train
to Barnstable, whence | drifted TO a place
called Morthoe, and there | pitched my
tent-if the expression may be allowed
in comfortable farm house, where the
welcome was all that could possibly be
expected for the money
did not tell any one what my profess
sion was, and consequently / passed for
an ordinary individual. After time
naturally made acquaintances-th parson
and.st the squire, and that kind of thing.
There was nobody with whom to talk
,ial, T rlN,,nl D,,t
that comes in time. [ found my fidus
Achates one morning, on the sands,
where | had gone in search of bath. He
was tall, rather melancholy looking
man with restless eye. Being anything
but bold swimmer, and the coast being
try the briny deep, and my new acquain-
tance obligingly pointed out a perfect
natural bath wherein l could disport N.Y.
self
almost as if it were made on pur-
pose" he remarked. II always come
sand-hills there. I shall be pleased to
see you any evening that you care to
drop in"
thanked the speaker, and for the time
being we parted. Subsequent inquiry
elected the fact that my friends name
stranger, who had taken furnished
house there for year. Usually, I was
informed, he preserved reserved atti-
tude. He was inclined to be eccentric:
and all his housework, cooking, ETC., was
done for him by solitary mans servant,
who so the gossips limited, was employed
more in the capacity of keeper than
anything else.
As a novelist this suggestion merely
served to pique my curiosity. A writer
looks unconsciously for copy, even in mo-
ments of leisure. But am bound to con-
fcss that l saw nothing peculiar in the
behavior of Wanless when one day l
lunched with him. The sole was done to
a turn; subsequent dish of curry left
nothing to be desired the sherry was
, really dry and not merely acid, and the
Iusty servitor waited in manner which
would have done credit to a professional.
Yet at the same time / could not help
seeing that Wanless was very much afraid
of his man Bellamy. For instance, when
he attempted to help himself to a third
glass of sherry, Bellamy calmly removed
the glass and placed the decanter at my
end of the table. The thing was done so
coolly that I could hardly restrain my
establishment.
For a moment l saw urid light flash
into the peculiar dark eyes of my host;
his hand clenched, then he laughed pleas
antly. "Bellamy presumes, as all old SER
wants do," Wanlcss said. but he is