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[Illustration: "Look there, Doris—you see that path? Let's go on tothe moor a little."]
A Great Success
By
Mrs. Humphry Ward
Author of "Eltham House," "Delia Blanchflower," etc.
New YorkHearst's International Library Co.1916
"Arthur,—what did you give the man?"
"Half a crown, my dear! Now don't make a fuss. I know exactly whatyou're going to say!"
"Half a crown!" said Doris Meadows, in consternation. "The fare wasone and twopence. Of course he thought you mad. But I'll get it back!"
And she ran to the open window, crying "Hi!" to the driver of ataxi-cab, who, having put down his fares, was just on the point ofstarting from the door of the small semi-detached house in a SouthKensington street, which owned Arthur and Doris Meadows for its masterand mistress.
The driver turned at her call.
"Hi!—Stop! You've been over-paid!"
The man grinned all over, made her a low bow, and made off as fast as hecould.
Arthur Meadows, behind her, went into a fit of laughter, and as hiswife, discomfited, turned back into the room he threw a triumphant armaround her.
"I had to give him half a crown, dear, or burst. Just look at theseletters—and you know what a post we had this morning! Now don't botherabout the taxi! What does it matter? Come and open the post."
Whereupon Doris Meadows felt herself forcibly drawn down to a seat onthe sofa beside her husband, who threw a bundle of letters upon hiswife's lap, and then turned eagerly to open others with which his ownhands were full.
"H'm!—Two more publishers' letters, asking for the book—don't theywish they may get it! But I could have made a far better bargain if I'donly waited a fortnight. Just my luck! One—two—four—autograph fiends!The last—a lady, of course!—wants a page of the first lecture. Calm!Invitations from the Scottish Athenaeum—the Newcastle Academy—theBirmingham Literary Guild—the Glasgow Poetic Society—the 'BritishPhilosophers'—the Dublin Dilettanti!—Heavens!—how many more! None ofthem offering cash, as far as I can see—only fame—pure and undefiled!Hullo!—that's a compliment!—the Parnassians have put me on theirCouncil. And last year, I was told, I couldn't even get in as anordinary member. Dash their impudence!… This is really astounding!What are yours, darling?"
And tumbling all his opened letters on the sofa, Arthur Meadows rose—insheer excitement—and confronted his wife, with a flushed countenance.He was a tall, broadly built, loose-limbed fellow, with a fine shaggyhead, whereof various black locks were apt to fall forward over hiseyes, needing to be constantly thrown back by a picturesque action ofthe hand. The features were large and regular, the complexion dark, theeyes a pale blue, under bushy brows. The whole aspect of the man,indeed, was not unworthy of the adjective "Olympian," already freelyapplied to it by some of the enthusiastic women students attending hisnow famous lectures. One girl artist learned in classical archaeology,and a haunter of the British Museum, had made a charcoal study of awell-known archaistic "Diespiter" of the Augustan period, on the samesheet with a rapid sketch of Meadows when lecturing; a performance whichhad been much handed about in the lecture-roo