“‘It’s not a comfortable thing to happen,’ said he, ‘and what I want to propose is that one or two of you should stay late for a night or two and see if you can find out how it occurs. There are one or two events coming off during the next few days about which we expect special communications, so that very likely whoever it is may try again. You must be very careful, and I shall have to leave you to use your discretion, for I’m so busy with the new Literary Supplement that I cannot stay myself.’
“Well, when he’d gone we had a consultation, and of course it ended in Waterford and me determining to sit up. Poor Booms’s heart would break if he couldn’t go ‘on the mash’ as usual; and though he tried to seem very much hurt that he was not to stay, we could see he was greatly relieved. Waterford and I were rather glad, as it happened, for we’d some work on hand it just suited us to get a quiet evening for.
“So I wrote a note to Miss Crisp. Don’t get excited, old man; she’s a very nice girl, but she’s another’s. (By the way, Jemima asks after you every time I meet her, which is once a week now; she’s invited herself into our shorthand class.) And after helping to rig old Booms up to the ninety-nines, which wasn’t easy work, for his ‘dicky’ kept twisting round to the side of his neck, and we had to pin it in three places before it would keep steady, I gave him the note and asked him would he ever be so kind as to take it round for me, as it was to ask Miss Crisp if she would go and keep my mother company during my absence.
“After that I thought we should never get rid of him. He insisted on overhauling every article of his toilet. At least four more pins were added to fix the restless dicky in its place on his manly breast. We polished up his eye-glasses with wash-leather till the pewter nearly all rubbed off; we helped him roll his flannel shirt-sleeves up to the elbows for fear—horrible idea!—they should chance to peep out from below his cuffs; we devoted an anxious two minutes to the poising of his hat at the right angle, and then passed him affectionately from one to the other to see he was all right. After which he went off, holding my letter carefully in his scented handkerchief and saying—dear gay deceiver!—that he envied us spending a cosy evening in that snug office by the fire!
“The work Waterford and I have on hand is—tell it not in Gath, old man, and don’t scorn a fellow off the face of the earth—to try to write something that will get into the Literary Supplement. This supplement is a new idea of the editor’s, and makes a sort of weekly magazine. He writes a lot of it himself, and we chip a lot of stuff for him out of other papers. The idea of having a shot at it occurred to us both independently, in a funny and rather humiliating way. It seems Waterford, without saying a word to me or anybody, had sat down and composed some lines on the ‘Swallow’—appropriate topic for this season of the year. I at the same time, without saying a word to Waterford or anybody except mother, had sat down and, with awful groanings and wrestlings of mind, evolved a lucubration in prose on ‘Ancient and Modern Athletic Sports.’ Of course I crammed a lot of it up out of encyclopaedias and that sort of thing. It was the driest rot you ever read, and I knew it was doomed before I sent it in. But as it was written I thought I might try. So, as of course I couldn’t send it in under my own name, I asked Miss Crisp if I might send it under hers. The obliging little lady laughed and said, ‘Yes,’ but she didn’t tell me at the same time that Waterford had come to her with his ‘Swallow’ and asked the very same thing. A rare laugh she must have had at our expense! Well, I sent mine in and Waterford sent in his.
“We were both very abstracted for the next few days, but little guessed our perturbation arose from the same cause. Then came the fatal Wednesday—the ‘d.w.t.’ day as we call it—for Granville always saves up his rejected addresses for us to ‘decline with thanks’ for Wednesdays. There was a good batch of them this day, so Waterford and I took half each. I took a hurried skim through mine, but no ‘Ancient and Modern Athletic Sports’ were there. I concluded therefore Waterford had it. Granville writes in the corner of each ‘d.w.t.,’ or ‘d.w.t. note,’ which means ‘declined with thanks’ pure and simple, or ‘declined with thanks’ and a short polite note to be written at the same time stating that the sub-editor, while recognising some merit in the contribution, regretted it was not suitable for the Supplement. I polished off my pure and simple first, and then began to tackle the notes. About the fourth I came to considerably astonished me. It was a couple of mild sonnets on the ‘Swallow,’ with the name M.E. Crisp attached!
“‘Hullo,’ I said to Waterford, tossing the paper over to him, ‘here’s Miss Crisp writing some verses. I should have thought she could write better stuff than that, shouldn’t you?’
“Waterford, very red in the face, snatched up the paper and glanced at it.
“‘Do you think they’re so bad?’ said he.
“‘Frightful twaddle,’ said I; ‘fancy any one saying—’”