In Queer Street. Fergus Hume

agreed the Nut, whose heart never warmed towards any one or anything. "It's queer meeting you here. Let's have a look at you."

      Hench laughed and shifted his position, so that the light from the window fell full upon him. A woman would have thought, as women did think, that he was well worth looking at, since he was tall and stalwart, undeniably handsome and possessed of great strength. With his well-built figure and upright carriage he looked more like a soldier than anything else. His hair, closely cropped, was brown, as were his eyes, and he had a full spade-shaped beard which added to his virile looks. The two men formed a marked contrast, and the small, dainty, over-dressed Nut looked like a doll beside the big, handsome, carelessly attired man. And it was on this attire that Spruce's eyes were fixed, as it hinted at many things. A well-worn blue-serge suit, a woollen shirt and mended brown boots did not suggest money, any more than the presence of Hench in this cheap boarding house intimated a good income. The Nut began to think that his dreams of making use of Hench were purely visionary. There was no wealth to be extracted from such an obvious pauper. Nevertheless, Spruce, who never threw away a chance, behaved very cordially and paid compliments.

      "But for that beard you are just the same as you were at Winchester," he remarked. "You were always big and heroic-looking. What are you doing here?"

      "Marking time!" said Hench laconically.

      "In the hopes of what?"

      "Of making my fortune."

      "Hum!" Spruce looked dissatisfied, as he did not care about meeting old schoolfellows who required help; "you do look down on your luck."

      "Not more than usual. I always make sufficient to keep my head above water by writing articles and stories for cheap newspapers and journals. But that is a poor state of things for a man of twenty-five."

      "There isn't much pie-crust about it, I admit, Hench. Why, I thought you were rich. I know at school the fellows always talked about your father being a Duke of sorts constantly on the move."

      "My father travelled a great deal on the Continent, certainly, and when I left school I joined him. But he died five or six years ago and left me with very little money. Since then I have been voyaging round the terrestrial globe to find money, and so far have not achieved success. But I say"--Hench broke off to re-fill his pipe--"why make me egotistical? My affairs don't interest you."

      "Oh yes, they do," Spruce protested, then baited his hook with a minnow to catch a possible whale. "And if you will allow me to be your banker----"

      "No! No! It's awfully good of you. But I have enough for my needs."

      "Well, when you haven't, come to me. Old schoolfellows, you know, should help one another at a pinch."

      "You're a good chap, Spruce," said the big man, gratefully.

      Spruce smiled graciously in response to the compliment, and privately considered that Hench was as trusting as he always had been, taking men at their own valuation, instead of putting a price on them himself. However, he had gained the good-will of the man by his delicate offer--which he by no means intended should be accepted--and therefore hoped, should Hench prove to be worth powder and shot, to benefit by his artful diplomacy. "Oh, that's all right, old fellow," he said airily and blowing rings of smoke; "since we're in the same galley we may as well renew our old friendship."

      "Begin a friendship, you mean," said Hench very directly. "We weren't pals at school, so far as I can recollect."

      "No! that's true enough. But you picked me up out of that ditch and played the part of a Good Samaritan, so I have reason to be friendly."

      "Thanks! I'm with you, Spruce. While we camp here I daresay we'll see a lot of one another, and I shan't forget your kind offer to help. I'm not quick to make friends, you know, as I find most people jolly well look after themselves to the exclusion of every one else."

      "I do, myself," said the Nut coolly. "Don't think that I go about playing the part of the Good Samaritan haphazard. But an old schoolfellow, you know----"

      "Yes! I understand. There's something in having been at the same desk, isn't there. But I say, Spruce, what are you doing here? Now that I cast my memory back, you were supposed to be very well off."

      "Oh, I am still," lied the Nut in a most brazen way; "that is I have enough money on which to live comfortably, although not a millionaire. But the fact is, I have literary ambitions, and wish to write a book. Some fellow said that Bethnal Green had never been written up since the time of the celebrated beggar, so I thought I'd come down and gather material. I spotted Mrs. Tesk's advertisement in the papers and the name of the house attracted me."

      Hench laughed. "The Home of the Muses! It's rather a queer title to give a house in this poverty-stricken neighbourhood; but then Mrs. Tesk, bless her, is queer herself. She's a good sort though, all the same. Well, you've come to the right place to get material for a sort of Charles Dickens book. We all live in Queer Street here, Spruce."

      "Queer Street, which, like Bohemia, is nowhere and yet is everywhere, Hench."

      "You are epigrammatic. That won't do for a book of the Dickens type."

      The Nut shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what sort of book I'll write, and that's a fact. In Queer Street, which I take it comprises the whole of Bethnal Green, there are many interesting people, for I have been walking about and have kept my eyes open. But those I find most interesting are under this roof."

      "Madame Alpenny?"

      "Yes! She's quite a character with her jewellery and her gambling. By the way, you won't find her so decked out Hindoo fashion as hitherto. During the week of my stay here, I have won two bracelets, several rings and a pair of ear-rings."

      Hench looked displeased. "You shouldn't encourage her love of gambling," he said strongly. "I'm not a saint, but it doesn't seem right for a well-to-do man such as you are to win Madame Alpenny's jewellery."

      "Why not? She has the same chance of winning my money. We play quite fairly, you know, Hench, and one must pass the time somehow. But I quite understand why you don't wish me to loot the lady."

      "Oh, do you." Hench grew red and smoothed his beard. "Well?"

      "I have listened and looked and questioned and considered while I have been here," explained the Nut coolly, "and by doing so I have found out your romance."

      "My romance!"--the big man bit his nether lip and thought that it was like the cheek of this finicky little devil to meddle with what did not in any way concern him--"what the deuce are you talking about?"

      "About your romance; about Bracken's romance; and about Mademoiselle Zara, who is the subject of both romances."

      "You are talking through your hat, Spruce."

      "By no means. I can give you chapter and verse for my surmises. Zara Alpenny is a handsome gipsy, although to my fancy she is a trifle gaunt and fierce, as any one can see. Her mother being poor, intends that her daughter shall be the wife of a wealthy man. You have fallen in love with this divinity of the Bijou Music-hall, and so has that bounder of a violinist. Madame Alpenny, knowing your circumstances, will have nothing to do with either of you as sons-in-law, preferring yours truly."

      "You!" Hench sat up and stared indignantly at the smooth speaker. "Now what the dickens do you mean by that rubbish?"

      "What I say. You understand King's English, I take it. But you need have no fear so far as I am concerned. Mademoiselle Zara is not my sort, and I have no intention of forwarding Madame Alpenny's matrimonial aims. But you----"

      Hench rose, looking considerably irritated. "I wish you would mind your own business," he said sharply. "You have found a mare's nest."

      "Oh, well," observed Spruce lazily, "if that is the case I may as well change my mind and become a suitor for Zara's hand."

      "You shall do nothing of the sort."

      "Why not? You don't love her, if I am to credit your mare's nest parable."

      Hench