An Indiscreet Disciple.

Summer wore away, and autumn came in brief, calm radiance, and passed; winter began to threaten. At Denborough one quiet day followed another, each one noticeable for little, but in the aggregate producing some not unimportant changes at Littlehill. Dale Bannister had begun to work hard and to work in solitude; the inspiration of Nellie's eyes seemed either unnecessary or ineffectual. Moreover, his leisure hours were now largely spent in visiting at houses in the neighborhood. He did not neglect his guests, but whenever their engagements occupied them, instead of wandering about alone or enjoying the humors of the High Street, as he had been prone to do in the early days of his sojourn, he would go over to Mount Pleasant, or to the Grange, or to Sir Harry Fulmer's, and he was becoming learned in country lore and less scornful of country ways. The Doctor was a rare visitor now, and, when he came, it generally fell to Philip Hume's lot to entertain him. Philip did his duty loyally, but it was dreary work, for Roberts' conversation, at their meetings, consisted, in the main, of diatribes against Dale Bannister. He would declare that Dale's conduct, in maintaining friendly relations with the gentry of the neighborhood, was in flagrant contradiction to the views he had proclaimed in his writings. Philip shrugged his shoulders, and said that some men were better than their writings, some worse, but no man the same as his writings; the prose must ever be allowed for: and at this the angry man often turned his back on the house with an imprecation on half-heartedness. For the rest, Philip's hands were not very full, and he and Nellie Fane found time for long expeditions together, which would have been more cheerful had it not been for Nellie's scrupulous determination to ignore the absence of the third member of the old trio. One day Philip's idle steps led him through the town on the search for matter of amusement. He was caught in a shower, and took refuge in the Mayor's shop, knowing that his Worship always had time for a gossip. He was not disappointed. The Mayor entertained him with a graphic account of the last assault on Mr. Delane's position as member for the Denborough division, and of his own recent re-election to his high office. Philip congratulated him on the latter event, and asked in curiosity:

"And what are your politics, Mr. Mayor?"

"I hold as a man in my position should have no politics, not party politics, Mr. Hume, sir."

"Well, there's something to be said for that."

"After all, we know what they are, sir. One out and the other in—that's what they are, sir."

"But you said Mrs. Hedger canvassed for the Squire."

"So she did, sir. Now, my daughter is on the Liberal side; she and Miss Smith used to go a-drivin' round together."

"A sad division of opinion, Mr. Mayor."

"Well, we can differ without disagreein', sir. Besides," he added, with something like a wink, "customers differ too."

"Most true."

"Business is business, sir, especially with a growin' fam'ly. I always think of my fam'ly, Mr. Hume, and how I should leave 'em if I was took—taken."

"A man's first duty, Mr. Mayor."

"You wouldn't catch me goin' on like this young Roberts."

"Why, what's he been up to now?" asked Philip uneasily.

"You aint seen the Standard, sir?" The Mayor, of course, meant the East Denshire Standard, not the London paper of the same name.

"No."

"Well, last week they printed the Vicar's sermon on 'The Work of Christianity in the World.' A fine sermon it was, sir. I heard it, being a Church of England man. Mrs. Hedger goes to Chapel."

"'Customers differ too,'" thought Philip, smiling.

"Well, as I was sayin', Jones of the Standard got the Vicar to give it 'im, and it came out, with a leadin' article of Jones' crackin' it up."

"But how does the Doctor——"

"This week, sir," continued the Mayor, shaking an impressive forefinger, "in the Chronicle—that's the Liberal paper, sir—there's a letter from the Doctor—two columns—just abusin' the Church and the parsons, and the 'ole—whole thing, fit to—well, I never did!"

"Hum! Rather rash, isn't it?"

"Rash, Mr. Hume, sir? It's madness, that's what it is, sir. He talks about 'pestilent priests,' and I don't know what all, sir, and ends with quotin' thirty or forty lines from a poem called, I think, 'The Arch Apostates'—would that be it, sir?—by Mr. Bannister."

"No! does he, by Jove?" said Philip, slapping his thigh.

"And the po'try, sir, is worse than the Doctor's own stuff, sir, beggin' your pardon as a friend of Mr. Bannister."

"I know the lines. They're some of the hottest he's ever done."

"Mr. Bannister, of course, can afford it, sir,—his opinions are what he pleases,—but the Doctor, sir!"

"So the fat's in the fire?"

"Just the very worst time it could ha' come out, sir. The Guardians over at Dirkham meet to-morrow to elect their medical officer. I'm afraid as they won't re-elect Dr. Roberts, sir, and there was more than one down at the Delane Arms sayin' they'd had the last to do with him."

Philip parted from his informant in much concern for Roberts, and in no small amusement at the public placarding of "The Arch Apostates." "Surtout, point de zele," he could imagine Dale saying to his infatuated disciple.

On returning home, however, he found the poet saying much harder things of, if not to, Mr. Roberts. Dale had been calling at the Smiths'. The Colonel, while shaking his head over Roberts' impudence, had applauded his opinions, and was, above all, enchanted with the extract from Dale's poem, which he had never hitherto read. His pleasure was, as he told Dale, greatly increased by finding that the letter and the quotation had fallen like a bombshell on the Grange household.

"The Squire was furious. Mrs. Delane said she had no idea you had done anything so bad as that; and little Janet sat and looked as if someone had knocked down the Archbishop of Canterbury. It was splendid! Gad, sir, you've waked 'em up."

These congratulations had the effect of reducing the poet almost to a frenzy. "What business," he demanded, "has the fellow to quote me in support of his balderdash without my leave?"

"My dear fellow, your works are the possession of the nation," said Philip, smiling, as he lit a cigar.

"It's an infernal liberty!" fumed Dale.

"You light the fire, and blame it for blazing," said Philip.

"One doesn't want to shove one's views down people's throats."

"Doesn't one? One used to."

"I shall write and disclaim any responsibility."

"For the poem?"

"For its publication, of course."

"That won't do you much good."

The Mayor's forecast, based on a lifelong observation of his neighbors, proved only too correct. Dr. Spink entered the lists against Roberts, and was elected by every vote save one. Sir Harry Fulmer, in blind and devoted obedience to Tora Smith, voted for Roberts; the rest, headed by the Squire, installed his rival in his place; and the Squire, having sternly done his duty, sat down and wrote a long and friendly letter of remonstrance and explanation to his erring friend.

As misfortune followed misfortune, the Doctor set his teeth, and dared fate to do her worst. He waited a few days, hoping to be comforted by a word of approval from his master; none came. At last he determined to seek out Dale Bannister, and was about to start when his wife came in and gave him the new issue of the Chronicle. Ethel Roberts was pale and weary-looking, and she glanced anxiously at her husband.

"I am going up to Littlehill," he said.

"Have you done your round, dear?"

"My round doesn't take long nowadays. Maggs will give me fifteen pounds for the pony: you know we don't want him now."

"No, Jim, and we do want fifteen pounds."

"What's that?"

"The Chronicle, dear. There's—a letter from Mr. Bannister."

"Is there? Good! Let's see what Bannister has to say to these bigoted idiots."

He opened the paper, and in the middle of the front page read:

A DISCLAIMER FROM MR. BANNISTER.

Sir: I desire to state that the use made by Mr. James Roberts of my poem in your last issue was without my authority or approbation. The poem was written some years ago, and must not be assumed to represent my present view on the subject of which it treats.

I am, sir, your obedient servant,

Dale Bannister.

The Doctor stared at the letter.

"Bannister—Dale Bannister wrote that!" and he flung the paper angrily on the floor. "Give me my hat."

"You're not going——"

"Yes, I am, Ethel. I'm going to find out what this means."

"Hadn't you better wait till you're less——"

"Less what, Ethel? What do you mean?"

"Till the rain stops, Jim, dear; and it's just baby's time for coming down."

"Hang—no, I beg your pardon, Ethel. I'm very sorry, but I must see the end of this."

He rushed out, and the baby found a dull, preoccupied, almost tearful, very unamusing mother to play with that day.

The Doctor marched into Dale's room with a stern look on his face.

"Well, Roberts, how are you?" asked Dale, not graciously.

"What does this mean, Bannister?"

"It means, my dear fellow, that you took my name in vain, and I had to say so."

"I'm not thinking of myself, though it would have been more friendly to write to me first."

"Well, I was riled, and didn't think of that."

"But do you mean to deny your own words?"

"Really, Roberts, you seem to forget that I don't enjoy setting the place by the ears, although you seem to."

"You wrote that poem?"

"Of course I wrote the damned thing," said Dale peevishly.

"And now—Bannister, you're not going to—to throw us over?"

"Nonsense! I like to publish my views at my own time and place, that's all."

"A man like you belongs to his followers as much as to himself."

"More, it seems."

The Doctor looked at him almost scornfully. Dale did not like scorn from anyone.

"I was particularly anxious," he began apologetically, "not to get into a shindy here. I wanted to drop politics and so on, and be friendly——"

"Do you know what you're saying, or the meanness of it?"

"Meanness? What do you mean?"

"You know very well. All I want to know is if you wrote this thing?"

"Of course I wrote it."

"And you stand to it?"

"Yes. I think you ought to have asked me before you did it."

"The Squire is shocked, eh?" asked the Doctor, with a sneer.

"The Squire's views are nothing to me," answered Dale, flushing very red.

The Doctor laughed bitterly.

"Come, come, old fellow," said Dale, "don't let us quarrel."

"Quarrel? Well, we won't. Only look here, Bannister."

"Well?"

"If you throw us over now, you'll be——"

"There, don't abuse me any more."

"Oh, I wasn't going to abuse you. If you leave us,—you, the leader we trusted,—where are we, where are we?"

"Give me another chance," said Dale, holding out his hand.

"You won't withdraw this?"

"How the deuce can I now?"

The Doctor shook his hand, saying:

"Don't betray us, don't betray us;" and thus the very uncomfortable interview came to a desired end.

That night at dinner Dale was cross and in low spirits. His friends, perceiving it, forbore to express their views as to his last public utterance, and the repast dragged its weary length along amid intermittent conversation.

When the dessert was on the table, a note was brought for Dale. It was from the Squire.

Dear Bannister: I was very glad to see your letter in the Chronicle. Mrs. Delane joins me in hoping you will dine with us to-morrow en famille. Excuse short notice. The man waits for an answer—don't write one.

Yours truly,

George Delane.

"Say I'll come with great pleasure," said Dale, his face growing brighter.

"Where will he go with great pleasure?" asked Philip of Nellie Fane.

"Where is it, Dale?"

"Oh, only to the Grange, to dinner to-morrow. I think I had better write a note, though—don't you think so, Phil? More—more attentive, you know."

"Write, my son," answered Philip, and, as Dale left the room, he looked round with a smile and exclaimed, "One!"

"One what, my dear?" asked Mrs. Hodge.

"Piece of silver, ma'am," replied Philip.

"You're sneering again," said Nellie in a warning tone. "Why shouldn't he like to dine at the Grange?" and she looked marvelously reasonable and indifferent.

"I was speaking with the voice of Doctor Roberts, Nellie, that's all. For my own part, I think a dinner is one of those things one may accept even from the enemy."