In Queer Street. Fergus Hume

The Home of the Muses, he felt much better, as his nature was too shallow for him to be impressed strongly by any emotion--sorrowful or joyful. It was late in the afternoon when he entered the dingy drawing-room, and here he found Hench and Madame Alpenny enjoying the regulation tea. Zara, it appeared, was lying down to refresh herself for the evening's performance, and Bracken was attending a rehearsal. As for Mrs. Tesk, her mind was engaged with the approaching dinner, and she was consulting the cook in the kitchen.

      As soon as Bottles, who was attending to the meal, saw Spruce stepping in he became at once upon the alert, and devoured him with his light blue eyes. Hench, noticing this espionage, sent the lad away to get fresh tea, as he did not approve of Bottles watching and listening to what did not concern him. Madame Alpenny smiled blandly when Spruce entered and complimented him on his cool looks. She was hot herself, and this was little to be wondered at, as she wore her constant black dress with the orange spots, her picture hat and her heavy bead mantle. The Nut wondered if she had any other clothes, as she never seemed to wear another garb.

      "You are just in time, Mr. Spruce," said Madame Alpenny in her lively way, and after she had paid her compliment. "Tell me what you know of Mr. Hench here."

      Spruce stared. "Why do you ask me that?"

      "Indeed you may well ask," said Hench with a frown, "as you cannot answer the question. But Madame here will not permit me to pay attention to Mademoiselle Zara until she knows more about me."

      "I am a good mother, you see, and must consider my daughter's happiness," was the reply of the Hungarian lady, as she took the freshly filled teapot from Bottles and sent him out of the room again.

      "If that is the case," said Spruce politely, "then you must allow her to become Mrs. Bracken."

      "Certainly I shall not. Ah, but you are smiling."

      "Indeed, I think your daughter will only be happy with Bracken," insisted the Nut lightly. "He loves her, and I think that she loves him."

      "In that case," commented Madame with a shrug and glancing at Hench, "there is no chance for you."

      "I admire Mademoiselle Zara and wish to make her my wife," said Hench steadily. "I am young and strong, and will soon make a fortune."

      "So far you have been unsuccessful," she replied dryly; "and for my daughter I prefer a ready-made fortune." Her eyes rested on Spruce as she spoke. The little man did not take the hint, but chuckled softly in his hateful fashion, so she was obliged to go on. "Tell me, Mr. Spruce, what do you know of Mr. Hench?"

      "Only that he is the best fellow in the world."

      Hench frowned. "I don't see how you can swear to that, seeing we have not met for eight years."

      "Oh, you were always a good sort of chap," said Spruce gaily. "If you don't mind my saying so, you haven't enough brains to be wicked. It takes a clever person to sin properly."

      "Ah, but you will amuse yourself with this talk," broke in Madame, smiling. "I want a good man for my daughter."

      "Take Bracken, then. He's a bit of a bounder, but decent enough."

      The old woman pursed up her lips and shook her head. After a few moments of reflection she spoke freely. "My daughter must marry money, and neither you, Mr. Hench, nor Mr. Bracken have any money. I will not allow you to pay your addresses to her. Nor will Zara receive them. She is a good girl and loves her old mother."

      "Well, Hench," said Spruce, when this speech was ended, "now you know. Are you not heart-broken?"

      "No!" retorted Hench sharply. "Nor am I defeated. Zara will decide."

      "She will decide what I order her to decide!" cried Madame Alpenny furiously. "And my daughter is not for you, Mr. Hench!"

      "I should prefer to discuss that question privately," said the young man in a stiff, haughty way; "there is no need for Mr. Spruce to be present."

      "Oh, don't say that," chimed in the Nut reproachfully; "I may be able to help you, old fellow. You don't go the right way to work."

      "It's my own way," snapped Hench restlessly, and objecting to interference.

      "Then it's the wrong way," snapped Spruce in his turn. "Remember that Madame Alpenny thinks you are a mystery. Use that to help you."

      "In what way?" Hench opened his brown eyes.

      "Mysterious persons are always interesting, and if Madame here finds that you may turn out to be some one great, who knows but what she may change her mind?"

      "Are you something great?" asked the lady, addressing Hench quickly.

      "No. I am nobody, and will remain nobody. Why should you think that I am, what you call, a mystery?"