Locke was always one of the most distinguished-looking persons in a room, with his tall, slight figure, very well dressed, and his hair—golden, with a natural wave in it—beautifully valeted. His theatrical successes did not begin till much later, nor had he developed his powers as a public speaker. He published admirable and solidly successful books before he took the reading world by storm with The Beloved Vagabond, and his novels won the respect of his fellow-craftsmen from the first. In those days he lived in a modest flat at Chelsea, and was a pretty regular attendant at literary clubs and receptions.
Coulson Kernahan was one of the most prominent figures in the set, because he had both a brilliant personality, and was producing a remarkable series of books, beginning with A Dead Man’s Diary. Coulson is one of our oldest and most intimate literary friends. I met him again directly I came back from America. He was at that time literary adviser to Ward, Lock & Co.
When James Bowden split from his partners, Ward, Lock & Co., and started a publishing business of his own, Kernahan went with him, and continued his profoundly imaginative series with books about Heaven—long, thin volumes, longer and thinner even than the John Oliver Hobbes booklets, which Fisher Unwin was bringing out. They sold by the hundred thousand. They were the literary topic of the day, till Norma Lorimer in despair said, “Kernahan is growing too chummy with his Creator.”
In another line his imagination produced Captain Shannon, a mysterious and thrilling adventure book. But he was soon to find his métier, and leave thrilling fiction to Mrs. Kernahan. He became a lecturer, for which his brilliant personality, his eloquence, his gift of humour, and his conviction, had cut him out. He went to live in the country; he lectured; he became an officer in the Territorials. And now he has turned them all to account in the service of the Empire, to which he is so passionately devoted, by going round as a caravan-lecturer to make the youth of the country awake to the national peril from unpreparedness.
At a National Defence meeting, last summer, at which Kernahan was the chief speaker, with Rudyard Kipling in the chair, Kernahan told his audience of his last good-bye word with Captain Robert Scott.
The hero of the South Pole asked him what he was doing, and whether he had any new book on the stocks.
“No,” was the reply; “I am neglecting my scribbling to work for Lord Roberts and National Defence.”
“Good!” said Scott, with unwonted warmth and enthusiasm. “Good! I’m with you there!”
Speaking of Lord Roberts, the grand old soldier is very appreciative of the work Kernahan is doing in this direction. The veteran Field Marshal not only wrote a eulogistic introduction to the Territorial author’s book on soldiering, but when the latter has been addressing great audiences on National Defence, has on several occasions sent telegrams to the chairman, asking that his thanks be conveyed to the speaker, and warmly commending Kernahan’s patriotism and the work he is doing for his country. Kernahan is almost as widely known for his friendships as for his writings. He has known intimately many distinguished men and women—authors, actors, soldiers, artists, explorers and politicians. On the walls of his library are many signed and inscribed portraits of celebrities, as well as pictures inscribed to him by the painters. On his shelves are numerous books dedicated or inscribed to him by the writers. One takes up a volume of Swinburne and finds written in it, “To Coulson Kernahan, whom Swinburne dearly loved, and who as dearly loved him. From his old and affectionate friend, Theodore Watts-Dunton.”
Another bears the inscription, “With the kind regards of Arthur James Balfour.” Yet another, “To Coulson Kernahan, from his old chum, Jerome K. Jerome.”