up against him if I maintained the pretence of unconsciousness of his proximity. There was no help for it but to discover him.
"Close at my right elbow."
"Ah!" I said, looking round.
That did not amount to much, but it was really all I had to say. Mr. Jones made no articulate response, and a few more steps brought us to Buckingham Palace-road.
"I'm going this way," I said, motioning towards Buckingham Gate. So was Mr. Jones, it seemed, for he turned off to the right.
"I suppose you don't know me?" he observed, after another pause, which I felt less awkward since I had really inaugurated conversation.
"No, indeed," I said, for the first time throwing real heartiness into my voice.
"Well, it's a goodish bit since you saw me before," said Mr. Jones, his smile developing into a chuckle. "I was at Watton's, The Chronicle, at Shrewsbury, when you were there. You remember Watton's?"
Well, indeed. As Mr. Jones spoke there flashed across my vision a sight I had not beheld for twenty-five years—a quaint, quiet street in an old town; a youth walking up it, a friendless youth, setting forth to seek his fortune,
"Hoping still to meet
The luck Arabian voyagers met,
And find in Bagdad's moonlit street
Haroun al Raschid walking yet."
"A glance of mingled amazement and indignation."
In the meantime he was strolling up High-street, Shrewsbury, bent upon having a furtive look at the outside of a certain establishment before he announced himself as the Chief Reporter of "the leading county paper." He was very young—looked younger than he was—and had an impression (promptly confirmed upon his being ushered into the presence of the proprietor) that he was not exactly the kind of person to represent the dignity and importance of a leading county paper at cattle shows, bazaars, and meetings of local members. The proprietor, deluded by an enthusiastic letter of recommendation written by the editor of a Liverpool paper, had engaged him by telegraph, fearful of losing the treasure.
If ever the eyes of youth read anything rightly in the stare of mature middle age, a month's notice was delivered by the glance of mingled amazement and indignation which the proprietor of the leading county paper cast upon his new recruit. But the notice did not come in a month,
