Evening star., 1919-01-19

adapted nlfnSeiI 10 lhe situatioii, the
deepening darkness gave him sense
of security, and the lights of the
shops cheered him somehow
He turned to the left toward the
sea.
Fifty yards down the street he
in whose windows colored neckties
screamed, and fancy shirts raised
their discordant voices with gents
summer waistcoats and those panama
hats. adored in the year of this story
by the river and seaside youth.
Jones' under the hands of Roches-
ter's valet and forced by circum-
stances to use Rochester's clothes,
was one of the best dressed men in
London. Left to himself in this mat
ter he was lost. He had no idea OF
what to wear or what not to wear,
no idea of the social damnation that
lies in tweed trousers not turned up
at the bottom. fancy waistcoats, made
evening ties. a bowler worn with
black morning coat, or dogskin
gloves, Heinenberg & Obermann OF
Philadelphia had dressed him till
Stulz unconsciously took the business
incongruity of his present getup top
ped by the tweed shooting cap of
Ho0ver's, but he was quite conscious
of the fact that some alteration in
dress was imperative as means to-
ward escape from SandbourAe -on
Sea.
He entered the shop of fowler &
simpkinson. bought a six and elev-
enpenny panama. put 1t on and had
Then flannel coat attracted him,
gray flannel tennis coat price fifteen
shillings. 1t fitted him to a charm,
save for the almost neglible fact that
the sleeves came down nearly to his
knuckles. Then he bought night
shirt for three and eleven, and had
the whole lot done up in one parcel.
At chemists next door he bought
toothbrush. In the mirror across the
counter he caught glimpse of him.
self in the panama. 1t seemed to him
that not only had he never looked so
well in any other headgear, but that
tered
Charmed and comforted he left the
shop: Next door to the CHEMISTS and
at the street corner was a public
house.
Jones felt certain from his know
ledge OF Hoover that the very last
place to come across one of his as
sistants would be public house He
entered the public bar, took seat
by the counter and ordered glass
OF beer and packet, of cigarettes
The place was rank with the fumes OF
cheap tobacco and cigarettes and the
smell of beer. Hard gaslight Showed
no adornment, nothing but pitch pine
paneling, spittoons. bottles on shelves
and an almanac The barmaid, a
long-necked girl with red hands, and
cheap rings and a rose in her belt,
detached herself from earnest con-
versation with a youth in bowler
inhabiting the saloon bar, pulled a
handle. dumped glass of beer be-
fore Jones and gave him change with
out word or glance, returning to her
conversation with the bowlered youth.
She evidently had no eyes at All for
people In the public bar. There are
grades. even in the tavern.
Close to where Jones had taken
his seat was standing a person in
broken shoes an old straw hat
coat, with parcels evidently in the
tall pockets. and trousers frayed at
the heels. He had a red, unshsven
face, and was reading the Evening
Courier.
Suddenly. he banged the paper with
the tips of the fingers of his right
hand and cast 1t on the counter
"Govinment! Govinment! Nice sort
of govinment. payin' each other four
and robbin' the landowners to get
the money-God lumme."
He paused to light filthy clay pipe.
He had his eyes on Jones, and evil
reason. of the same way of political
thinking as himself. and he addressed
him in that impersonal way in which
one addresses an audience.
'Ihey'Ne QO~neu ana Outeu the
house o. lords, an now they're scrag-
gin the Welsh Church: after that
they'll go for the landed proprietor
and finish him. And who's 10
blame? The radicals--no. they ain't to
blame. no more than rats for their
Instincts: we're to blame, the con-
servatives is to blame; we haven't got
fightin' man to purtect us. The
radicals has got all the tallant-you
look at the fight Bonna Lor's been
maxim this week. Fight! a bird
tomcat with his head in all old t'mar-
ter tin would make better fight
than Bonna Lor's put up. Look at
Churchill; that chap was one of us
once; he was born to lead the clarses,
an now look at him leadin' the
marses, up to his neck in radical dirt
and pretendin' he likes 1t. He doesn't
but he's a man with an eye in his
head and he knows what we are,
homeless lot without organization.
say it myself. I said it only .larst
night in this here bar and / say 1t
again. for two pins I'd chuck my
party. would so. For two pins
I'd chuck the country. and leave the
whole lot to stew in their own
grease
He addressed himself to his beer.
and Jones. greatly marveling, lit a
cigarette.
DO you live here?" asked he.
"Sh'd think did" replied the
other. Born here and bred here. and
been watchin' the place going down
for the last twenty years, turnin'