Only out of Eton a year, and here they were hobnobbing with celebrities like Lord Marvin!

Turly stood at the top of the redcarpeted stairway to greet the distinguished visitor. Footmen, stiff and formal, gave him every attention. Turly, the most admired athlete that ever wore the Eton cap, bowed very low. "I am delighted, sir, to welcome you to my house. It is an exceptional honor, and I am sensible of being highly flattered."

The youngsters from Eton, hoarse from their vocal efforts of the past three days at Lords cricket ground, wanted to cheer like mad. I say! wasn't Turly doing the thing splendidly? Just think of it! The great Marvin coming to Turly's place for dinner!

Joe Swan coughed. He was led into a huge dining-room. Spotless napery, an array of silver, cut glass, flowers. The Etonians, conscious of the honor, took their places at table like little soldiers.

"Gentlemen!" Turly was facing them. "It is with the greatest pleasure that I am able to present to you the Leader of His Majesty's government in the Upper House. Lord Marvin!"

Twenty pink throats opened wide, volleyed out a shrill, nerve-racking cheer. Think of it! Dining with the great Lord Marvin! I say! what a story they could tell when they returned home!

To Joe Swan it was something of a nightmare. He didn't know what he was doing. He didn't, straight! Everything real-but like a blinkin' dream, you might say. Under the table his knees kept knocking together. Couldn't stop 'em, like.

He lifted his eyes. Boys! The majority about sixteen. Joe Swan calmed himself a bit. Why, he was old enough to be their grandfather. Gawd! wouldn't it be wonderful to 'ave one like 'em? One of your own, like. Healthy-looking young gentlemen. Sons of lords and earls and dukes.

"Claret, your lordship?”

Joe peeped over his shoulders. The butler. "Yes, yes, yes," he said.

The dinner went on. Mr. Norton and Lord Turlington kept talking to him. Joe wasn't listening. Cripes! wasn't the soup good! Never tasted nothing like it afore. And the claret! Wonderful, it was.

Lord Turlington stepped on his foot. "I suppose, sir," he said, “we can't prevail on you for a speech?"

Joe had been instructed about that. "No, no, no," he said. "Throat too painful, I suppose?" "Yes, yes, yes."

There was a sharp kick on his left ankle.

"Fork," whispered Reggie Norton. "Yes, yes, yes," said Joe. He made the change as he had been instructed, first laying down his knife beside his plate. Lummy! that there pheasant was good. He'd heard 'em say it was pheasant. Oo, Gawd! the butler had taken it away-afore he was half finished with it

"Champagne, your lordship?"

Joe just nodded. He couldn't speak. Something-a lumpy feelingin his throat, like. Must pull himself together.

"Did you see the game, sir?" "Didn't Traversley score a pretty fifty, sir?"

"Harrow played a sporting game. Don't you think so, sir?"

He couldn't reply. Just looked at them and tried to smile. Young, soft voices. Courteous, well-behaved, handsome lads. Their eyes clear blue, clear brown, clear black-like posies, you might say. Their cheeks red as apples. Gawd! if Martha hadn't took sick. If only she had lived and a son of his own, like—

A new delicacy was placed before him. He tasted it. Gawd! what lovely pudding! Melted in your mouth, it did. He'd take all they gave him of that. He'd ask for a bit more when

"Fork," came the whisper. Again Mr. Norton's shoe was tapping his left ankle. Again, while Joe was switching from spoon to fork, the butler removed his plate. Lummy! he'd give anything in the world for a bit more of that pudding.

Hum of chatter all around him. Music of laughing voices. Butlers darting about. Champagne bubbling. Going to his 'ead a bit, wasn't it?

"Is there anything you'd like, sir?" inquired his host.

Joe glanced helplessly at him. "Yus, m'lord-I'd like a bit more of that there pudding."

Lord Turlington burst out laughing. An excellent joke! Lord Marvin had asked for "a bit more of that there pudding." Jolly good! Splendid!

"Saunders!" he called, "serve the Crêpe Bar-le-Duc again. Lord Marvin finds it to his taste.'

"Speech! Speech! Speech!" yelled the Etonians.

Their tall, handsome young host rose. Turly, their idol, their hero. Turly who had scored a century for them against Harrow last year.

Turly who had kicked them and walloped them when they had fagged for him, but who now had done them proud and given them the opportunity to hobnob with the leader of the House of Lords. House of Lords. I say! the governor won't believe it-when I tell him about this!

"Gentlemen!" Turly was smiling. "When I invited you to dinner three days ago, I promised you a great surprise. You are dining this evening with one of the most distinguished statesmen in the world, Lord Marvin. Unfortunately, he is suffering from a very bad throat, due, I believe, to a succession of speeches he has been lately called upon to make in opposition to the Labor Party. Therefore he asks you to excuse anything in the nature of a talk.

"I have, however, managed to persuade his lordship to tell you a funny story. It is about a cabby, and Lord Marvin will tell it in dialect. I may say he does it remarkably well." He turned to the guest of honor. "Lord Marvin."

Joe was enjoying his Crêpe Bar-leDuc, but Mr. Norton prodded him. Shakily, he got to his feet. A round of applause greeted him. Well, here he was-in the 'Ouse of Lords, as you might say. All these lads were future members of the 'Ouse of Lords. The hated 'Ouse of Lords. Lummy! he'd like to tell 'em a few things. Straight, he would! What about the Widows and Orphans Bill? What about the Licensed Drivers Bill?

"Gentlemen," he began hastily, "if I was a bloomin' peer—"

He gazed at them. Innocent, young gentlemen. Frank open faces. Eyes, gentle and considerate. What

was all that about Eton? Waterloo won on their playing fields? Joe Swan could well understand it. Yus, England's future was safe in the hands of these boys. Sons of men who had fought and died for England -that's what they was. Grandsons and great-grandsons of men whose names were history, whose statues could be seen in Westminster Abbey, Hyde Park, St. Paul's

A sudden wave of pride spread through Joe Swan. He gripped his lumpy hands; hid them behind his back. He smiled. Never mind about the story they had coached him to tell. He had something else to say. "Gentlemen! if I was a bloomin' peer-I'd be proud of meself. I would, straight!"

"I want to tell you we laboringmen 'ave always looked up to youalways loved and admired you. You are the flower of old England, you might say. You are the best we've bloomin'-well got—”

Cheers, tapping of forks on glasses, happy laughter. Mr. Norton surreptitiously tugging at his coat-tails.

"Yus, gentlemen-you 'ave an 'eritage you can be proud of. We look up to you, like. We do and that's a fact. The haristocrisy 'ave always proved their quality. Take your courage in the late war, for instance. You've led us right through the ages-England's history-and we've been proud to follow you."

More banging of spoons, more cheers, more laughter.

"But lately there's come a change over England," said Joe. "The Labor Party's come into things. That don't mean there's any class hatred. There ain't-and I 'ope you young gentlemen will take my word for it.

All we ask is a little consideration. You can't do without us, me lords. And we blinkin'-well can't do without you.

"So when you grow up to be men, like-when you take your seats in the 'Ouse of Lords-don't forget it's the British working-man what's put you there. Do the right thing by us and we'll follow you and be proud of it. Cause there ain't a finer thing in the world than a gentleman-and we of the Labor Party ain't forgetting it-make no mistake-"

Unable to resist the pull on his coat-tails, Joe Swan suddenly plumped down on his chair. The Etonians cheered to the echo, they shouted, they banged.

Lord Turlington rose. "During Lord Marvin's delightful speech," he said, "one or two of you seemed to have forgotten that he purposely addressed you in the dialect of a London cabby."

There was a silence. Joe was looking down at his half-eaten pudding, wondering if he dare go on with it afore it got cold.

"I am sure," Lord Turlington proceeded, "it must have been somewhat surprising to his lordship to realize that there are some Etonians who evidently lack all appreciation of subtlety. I hope he will forgive you.' "I do," said Joe.

Lord Turlington turned to him. "On behalf of my guests, sir, I thank you. The sophistry and brevity of your speech were equally distinguished. And now, sir, knowing you have important business to attend to, we shall not permit ourselves to detain you any longer."

As if by magic, Joe was yanked to his feet. Lummy! wasn't they going

"You see him to the door, Fish," whispered Turly. "Reggie go back in there and keep it up. Don't let them catch on."

Without ceremony, Joe was led down the broad stairway. A footman brought him his silk hat and cane. Another opened the door.

"Come on," said Fish. "I'll see you to the pavement. Walk away in a nonchalant manner in case they happen to be looking out of the window."

"I understand, sir. I had a good dinner and all that, sir. Sorry I couldn't finish me pudding. But I ain't grumblin'. Only-begging your pardon, sir-I was 'oping there'd be a little something in it for me. I've me rent to pay-and Charlie, me 'orse, hasn't had a feed of hay-" "Here. Take this." Fish gave him a sovereign. "Now put on a bit of style as you walk away."

"I will, sir. Thanky, sir. What about me duds, sir? What about me silk 'at, and everything?"

"To the deuce with 'em. Throw 'em away. Lord Turlington doesn't want them any more."

"Thanky, sir. Good night, sir." And Joe Swan walked away, swinging

his cane, the music of young Etonian voices ringing in his ears.

"For he's a jolly good fel-le-ho! Which nobody can deny-"

Along the Square, out to the right, and on in the direction of Hyde Park. That was the route Joe Swan took, swaggering along as best he could, despite his tight, shiny shoes. Lummy! that there pudding! And the pheasant! And the champagne! And in his trouser's pocket was a sovereign. A golden sovereign! Oats for Charlie. And rent-money, and oil for the lamps and everything. Gawd bless the noble young gentle

men.

Opposite Marble Arch, in the thickening fog, a policeman touched his helmet.

"Good night, your lordship."

Cripes! Took him for Lord Marvin, he did! Gawd! it was wonderful. Joe Swan trod on air. For once-for one short hour-he was a great man with plenty of money and London at his feet, so to speak.

Somebody pattering behind him. A voice, a woman's voice:

"I know I shouldn't be speaking to yer, m'lord. I 'opes you'll pardon me. But I can't 'elp it."

The poor thing, young, pale and haggard of face, a threadbare shawl about her head and shoulders, spoke desperately.

"Me 'usband is dead-and I got three little 'uns to look after. They ain't 'ad a bite all day, sir. Oh, I know 'ow good you've been to the poor, m'lord-I know you're giving and giving to 'em all the time. But I can't 'elp asking yer, m'lord."

She was sobbing. Her thin, white

hands were trembling as she stretched them out to him. The policeman came striding over.

"This woman annoying you, your lordship? Now then! Move onmove on!"

"No, no, no. That's all right, constable. She-she ain't annoying me."

Joe Swan was conscious of a great and warm humanity toward all men. It lifted him to golden heights, flooded his being with happiness.

"Here, madam," he said very simply, "take this."

"Oh, Gawd bless yer, sir. Gawd be good to yer-for ever and ever." "Tut, tut," said Joe. He was Lord Marvin just then, like. "I'm sorry I can't give you more. night, madam."

Good

He walked on. Down Oxford Street, along Regent Street, into Piccadilly Circus. Policemen saluted him. Cabbies touched their caps. Pedestrians turned their heads to look at him.

About ten o'clock, foot-sore and weary, he arrived at the mews.

"Hello, Charlie-old 'orse. Don't know me, I suppose? Well, I'm Lord Marvin, Charlie and I've blinkin'well had the time of me life. Look at me topper! I've been sitting down with lords and dukes, Charlie-finest dinner you ever saw

Charlie sniffed at his empty man

ger.

"I know," said Joe. "Ain't eaten since morning. I know it, Charlie and me 'eart goes out to you. I had your bloomin' oats in me pocket. I did, straight. I gave 'em to a poor, young woman. I had to, Charlie. She took me for Lord Marvin-so I couldn't 'elp meself, like.

"But just you hold up, Charlie. Lean against the stall, or something. I'm going to take these 'ere duds off me back-and the minute I get out of 'em I'll be plain old Joey Swan again. I'm going to pawn 'em, Charlie and then you'll get your oats. I'd like to keep me topperand I will, if I can get ten shillings for the coat and waistcoat. So hold up, Charlie. I won't be a blessed minute."

He hurried over to his room in Blackwalls Lane. He lit the stump of candle. He took the silk-lined evening coat and began to fold it. Something crinkled. In the inside breast pocket was a plain envelop. The flap was unfastened. It inclosed five ten-pound notes. Joe looked at them with stricken eyes.

Cripes! Never seen SO much money in all his life. Gawd! Five, crisp tenners! Fifty quid! A fortune! His lordship must 'ave forgot 'em. He'd be looking everywhere for that there envelop, he would.

Joe replaced it in the pocket where he had found it, struggled into the coat again, then scrambled as fast as he could back to the mews.

"Charlie," he puffed, "oats or no oats, you'll 'ave to get into your collar. We've got to see Lord Turlington, at once. I'm blinkin'-well sorry but it can't be 'elped. Come on, Charlie. Try to act like a 'orse."

Charlie was willing enough. Perhaps he was too hungry to resist. But it was a weary, mournful-looking steed that drew a cab out of the yard and responded to the exhortations of a master whose splendid habiliments were hidden beneath a weather-worn and ragged driving

coat.