ADVENTURE XIX. THE PILGRIMS OF THE PENNY GAFF.

The junior partner was, as he expressed it, "down on his luck." He was heartily sorry for himself, and indeed the fault was not all his own. It was now some considerable time since he began regularly to see home the lady member of the Knuckle Dusters' Club, and perhaps he had begun to some extent to presume upon his standing. He had, in fact, taken it upon him to warn her as to the difficulties of her position.

"It is not right for a young lady to be about in this district at night—no girl ought to do it, whatever be her motive."

He was sometimes a very short-sighted junior partner.

Celie Tennant fired up.

"And pray, Mr. Iverach, who made you my guardian? I am quite of age to judge where it is right for me to go, and what it is proper for me to do!"

The junior partner assumed a lofty attitude.

"I consider," he began, "that it is highly improper."

But this was as far as he got. The pose judicial was not one to which Miss Cecilia Tennant was accustomed, even from her own father. She dropped her companion a very pretty courtesy.

"I consider that our roads separate here," she said; "and I wish you a very good evening, Mr. Iverach!"

And she gave the junior partner a look at once so indignant and so admirably provocative, that he turned away righteously incensed, but at the same time miscalling himself for more kinds of idiot than his father had ever called him, even on his most absent-minded days in the office.

Nevertheless he endeavoured, by a dignified manner as he walked away, to express his wounded feelings, his unquenchable sense of injustice, the rectitude of his aims and intentions, and the completeness with which he washed his hands of all consequences. It is not easy to express all this by simply taking off one's hat, especially when you have a well-grounded belief that you are being laughed at privately by one whom you—well, respect. And saying "silly girl" over and over does not help the matter either. For the junior partner tried, and did not improve the situation so much as the value of a last evening's paper.

On the other hand, there was a sense of exhilaration about Celie Tennant's heart and a certain lightness in her head, when she had thus vindicated her independence. She stopped and looked into the window of a shop in which nothing was displayed but a large model of a coal-waggon, loaded with something "Jewels," and bearing the sympathetic announcement that Waldie's Best Household Coal was down this week one penny a bag.

It is a curious thing, when you come to think of it, that the prettiest girls often stop opposite dark shop fronts where there is apparently nothing to interest them, and pass by others all aglow with the blanched whiteness of female frilleries. There is some unexplained optical problem here. The matter has been mentioned to Miss Tennant, but she says that she does not know the reason. She adds that it is all nonsense. Perhaps, after Professor Tait has found out all about the flight of the golf-ball, he will give some attention to this question. He can obtain statistics and facts on any well-frequented street by keeping to the shady side.

So Celie stood a moment—only a moment, and was then quite ready to turn away, assured in mind and at peace with all men—with the doubtful exception of Mr. Donald Iverach.

Her bonnet was indeed "straight on." But she gave her foot a little stamp when she thought of the junior partner.

"The idea!" she said.

But she did not condescend to expound the concept which troubled her, so that an idea it has ever since remained, and indeed must be left as such.

Then Celie became conscious that some one was gazing at her—not a woman, of course. She turned. It was only Cleg Kelly. But she was glad to see even him, for, after all, one does need some support even in well-doing. It is so difficult to be independent all by one's self.

"Where are you going, Cleg?" she said.

"To the penny shows aff o' the Easter Road," replied Cleg.

"Will you take me, Cleg?" said Celie, with a sudden clearing of her face, her eyes beginning to blaze with excitement.

A great thought took possession of her. This appeared to be a providential chance to prove all that she had been advancing to Mr. Donald Iverach, who, indeed, had nothing whatever to do with the matter.

"Take you, Miss Celie?" stammered Cleg aghast. "Ye wadna gang to the shows?"

And he laughed a little laugh of wonderment at the jest of his goddess, for of course it could only be a joke.

"I will come with you, Cleg, if you will take me!" said Celie.

"But ye ken, Miss Celie, it's no for the like o' you. It's a' weel aneuch for boys and common fowk, but no for you!"

Thus Cleg urged prudence, even against the wild hope which took possession of him.

"Come on, Cleg!" said Celie Tennant, rushing into rebellion at the thought of having her independence called in question, even by one of the Knuckle Dusters.

"It's all his fault!" she said to herself.

Which it very clearly was—Cleg's, of course, for he ought not to have followed her home.

Now along the Easter Road, then only a somewhat muddy country track, there was a small quarry which is now filled up, and a vacant acre or two of land where the show-folk took up their stances, and waged mimic but not bloodless wars in the mornings for the best positions.

Great sheets of canvas were stretched above, flaring cressets were being lighted below, for some of the largest shows were dark inside, being those where the mysteries of "Pepper's Ghost" were shortly to be unveiled.

Celie Tennant was greatly excited by the prospect of eating of the tree of knowledge.

"Let us go in here," she said, pointing to the wondrous "Ghost Illusion" bearing the name and style of Biddle. She drew out her purse to pay, but Cleg stopped her with his hand. He had grown quite dignified.

"Na," he said, "ye canna do that. It's my treat the nicht, when ye are walkin' oot wi' me."

Then it dawned upon Celie that she was assisting at a well-understood function—no less than the solemn treating of a lady fair upon the evening of a pay-day. The thought nearly overcame her, but she only said, "Thank you, Cleg," and was discreetly silent.

For the time being she was Cleg Kelly's "young woman."

They went in. A fat woman, with large silver rings in her ears of the size of crown pieces, took Cleg's money and looked with great sharpness at them both. Cleg paid for the best places in the house. They cost him sixpence, and were carpeted—the seats, not the floor. To such heights of extravagance does woman lead man! The play was already proceeding as they sat down. Presently, after some very moral observations from an old gentleman in trouble with a dying child (he said "choild"), the curtain dropped and the roof of canvas was drawn aside, in order to let in the struggling daylight and save the flaring naphtha cressets.

Instantly Celie and Cleg became the sole centre of attraction—a doubleted courtier in tights, with an unruly sword which scraped the curtain, having no chance whatever by comparison with their grandeur. Cleg folded his arms with a proud disdain and sat up with a back as straight as an arrow.

"Glory be—if 'tisn't Cleg Kelly wid the Quane of Shaeba!" said a compatriot in the pit. (The house was divided into pit and carpet.) And this was the general opinion. It was the proudest moment of Cleg's existence—to date, as he himself said.

Celie sat all the while demure as a kitten and smoothed her gloves. Several Knuckle Dusters passed Cleg the private wink of the society, but none dared intrude on that awful dignity of responsibility. Besides, none of them were "on the carpet," and Biddle of the Silver Rings possessed a quick eye and a long arm.

The curtain went up. This time it was a haunted room. A haunted clock ticked irregularly in the corner, and the villain sat alone in his quite remarkable villainy, on a solitary chair in the middle of the room. It was very dark, owing to the murky cast of crime all round. Suddenly the gentleman on the chair shouted out the details of his "croime" at the pitch of his voice, as if he had been the town crier. He told how much he regretted having left his victim weltering in his gore, whereupon the aforesaid victim abruptly appeared, "weltering," it is true, but rather in a white sheet with the lower part of which his legs appeared to be having a difficulty.

The villain hastened to rise to the occasion. Once more he drew his sword, with which he had been making gallant play all the time. Again he informed the next street of his "croime." Then he pulled a pistol out of his belt and solemnly warned the spectre what would happen if he did not clear out and take his winding-sheet with him.

But the spectre appeared to be wholly unimpressed, for he only gibbered more incoherently and fluttered the bed-quilt (as Cleg called it) more wildly. The villain continued to exhort.

"He's an awfu' blatherumskite!" said Cleg, contemptuously. He knew something of real villains. He had a father.

Again the spectre was warned:

"Your blood be upon your own head!" shouted the villain, and fired the pistol.

The ghost remarked, Br-r-r-r-r! whoop!—went up to the ceiling, came down again wrong side up, and then set about gibbering in a manner more freezing than ever. Whereupon the villain seized his crime-rusted sword in both hands and puddled about in the spectre's anatomy, as if it had been a pot, and he was afraid it would boil over. But soon he satisfied himself that this was not the game to play with a spirit so indifferent. And with a wild shriek of despair he cast the sword from him on the floor.

"Ha, baffled! foiled!" he remarked, clasping his hand suddenly to his brow: "COL-LD FIRE IS USELESS!"

This was summing up the situation with a vengeance, and tickled Celie so much that she laughed joyously—as the audience clapped and cheered with appreciation, and Cleg rose to come out.

"What comes after that?" said Celie, who was quite willing to stay to the end.

"After that the devil got him. We needna wait for that!" said Cleg, simply. He had an exceedingly healthy and orthodox belief in the ultimate fate of ill-doers. But he did not choose that his goddess should witness the details.