PAYING GUESTS.
I came across Crawshaw in the road unexpectedly. I would rather meet a rate-collector than Crawshaw. He is the most dangerous beggar in England. He could induce a blind crossing-sweeper to guarantee half-a-crown a week to a Belgian Relief Fund. If only he were Chancellor of the Exchequer people would almost like paying income-tax.
"Good morning, old man," I said, trying to dash past him.
"Just the man I was looking for," said Crawshaw. "I want you."
"My dear fellow," I began, "I can't possibly afford——"
"I don't want your money," interrupted Crawshaw.
"Well, you've got all my spare blankets, underclothing and old novels."
"I want you to come to a little dinner I'm giving on Monday. Just a bachelor festival."
I looked at him suspiciously. "You intend to entice me into your house and produce a subscription list."
"My dear fellow, I'll do nothing of the sort. It's just that I want a few of my friends to have a good time. Look in about 7.30. You'll come? That's good."
I found a genial company assembled when I arrived.
"Now we're all here," said Crawshaw. "Come in to dinner, you men."
Two or three guests confided to me on the way that Crawshaw owed us a good dinner after all he had got out of us. We seated ourselves at the table, and then I noticed an empty bowl in the middle. It bore this inscription, "Any one desiring to make a remark about the War will drop a shilling in for the Soldiers' Comforts Fund."
"My idea," said our smiling host. "We want a nice convivial dinner with an evening off from The Subject. We shall return to it to-morrow with fresh intelligence and enthusiasm after a brief relaxation."
I turned to my neighbour, Spoor, and carefully selecting a safe topic began on the weather. "Bit windy, isn't it, to-night?"
"Good anti-Zeppelin weather, I call it," said the incautious Spoor.
"A shilling, please, Spoor," remarked Crawshaw.
Rogers was across the table. I could see him fiddling with knives and salt-cellars. All at once he broke out: "In our platoon to-day there was a man missing, and in consequence a blank file. Now in such a case——"
"You pay a shilling," interposed Crawshaw.
For a moment an awful silence prevailed. I could think of nothing except the War. All at once Williams threw a five-shilling piece into the bowl.
"I met an officer on leave from the Front to-day," he began, "and he was telling me just what Joffre is up to."
Now Chapman is nothing if not a strategist. He listened with impatience to the exposition of Joffre's idea, and then, hurling half-a-sovereign into the bowl, proved conclusively that Williams' informant was absolutely in the wrong.
It was at this point that I remembered an interesting fact I had just heard about Italy's mobilisation. I could not keep it back. "Crawshaw," I appealed, "will you compromise? A sovereign each for the dinner?"
"Done," said Crawshaw.
"Good. I always mistrusted you. I came without a penny. Lend me a sovereign."
"I'm not in this compromise," cried Chapman. "I've said all I've got to say. You'll run me in for nothing more."
It was at the end of the meal that Crawshaw rose. "Thanks awfully, you fellows. There's twelve pounds twelve in the bowl. Eleven of us have given a sovereign and Chapman there, bless his generous heart, thirty-two shillings."
"Crawshaw," grumbled Chapman, "I know you've a family. I know you're too old. I know you're physically disqualified. But you ought to go to the Front. Not only would it raise the spirits of the poor people you leave behind here, but your very presence in the trench with a subscription list would make the enemy run."
"Porter, Porter! Stop the train! I've left my wool in it!"
Belated Reveller. "Here, switch off, Gov'nor. I'm not a Zellerpin!"