Jerome K. Jerome

“ The lady with the baby, without precisely knowing why, set up a shrill cheer. Johnny's delight died away; it wasn't the pocket-hole. Short of taking the skirt off and turning it inside out, it didn't seem to Johnny that he ever would find that pocket.
Then in that moment of despair he came across it accidentally. It was as empty as the reticule!
“I am sorry,” said Johnny to the cabman, “but I appear to have come out without my purse.”
The cabman said he had heard that tale before, and was making preparations to descend. The crowd, now numbering eleven, looked hopeful. ”

“ I don't pretend to be a George Washington, but what's the use of telling lies that sound like lies, even to one's self while one's telling them? Give me a genuine sale of twenty thousand, and I'll undertake, without committing myself, to convey an impression of forty. ”

“ In Newgate Street, Johnny paused and pressed his hands against his chest. “Funny sort of pain I've got,” thought Johnny. “Wonder if I should shock them if I went in somewhere for a drop of brandy?”
“It don't get any better——” reflected Johnny, with some alarm, on reaching the corner of Cheapside. “Hope I'm not going to be ill. Whatever——” The explanation came to him. “Of course, it's these stays! No wonder girls are short-tempered, at times.”
At the offices of the Marble Soap, Johnny was treated with marked courtesy. Mr. Jowett was out, was not expected back till five o'clock. ”

“ Drawn by a notion that was forming in his mind, Johnny turned his steps up Bedford Street. “Why not?” mused Johnny. “Nobody else seems to have a suspicion. Why should they? I'll never hear the last of it if they find me out. But why should they find me out? Well, something's got to be done.”
Johnny walked on quickly. At the door of the Autolycus Club he was undecided for a moment, then took his courage in both hands and plunged through the swing doors.
“Is Mr. Herring—Mr. Jack Herring—here?”
“Find him in the smoking-room, Mr. Bulstrode,” answered old Goslin, who was reading the evening paper. ”

“ Jowett was the proprietor of the famous Marble Soap. Jowett spent on advertising every year a quarter of a million, it was said. Jowett was the stay and prop of periodical literature. New papers that secured the Marble Soap advertisement lived and prospered; the new paper to which it was denied languished and died. Jowett, and how to get hold of him; Jowett, and how to get round him, formed the chief topic of discussion at the council-board of most new papers, Good Humour amongst the number. ”

“ The Autolycus Club waited. Jack Herring re-entered the room.
“One of the saddest stories I have ever heard in all my life,” explained Jack Herring in a whisper. “Poor girl left Derbyshire this morning to come and see her brother; found him out—hasn't been seen at his lodgings since three o'clock; fears something may have happened to him. Landlady gone to Romford to see her mother; strange woman in charge, won't let her in to wait for him.”
“How sad it is when trouble overtakes the innocent and helpless!” murmured Somerville the Briefless. ”

“ Postwhistle. “That is, if you are going to play the fool much longer.”
“Miss Bulstrode” opened his eyes. Mrs. Postwhistle went on with her breakfast.
“Don't tell them,” said Johnny; “not just for a little while, at all events.”
“Nothing to do with me,” replied Mrs. Postwhistle.
Twenty minutes later, the real Miss Bulstrode, on a visit to her aunt in Kensington, was surprised at receiving, enclosed in an envelope, the following hastily scrawled note:—
“Want to speak to you at once—alone. ”

“ Against our fellow-men we can protect ourselves, but if the ladies are going to attack us—really it isn't fair.”
Miss Montgomery pleaded.
“I'll think it over,” was all that Mr. Jowett could be made to promise. “Look me up again.”
“When?” asked Miss Montgomery.
“What's to-day?—Thursday. Say Monday.” Mr. Jowett rang the bell. “Take my advice,” said the old gentleman, laying a fatherly hand on Johnny's shoulder, “leave business to us men. You are a handsome girl. You can do better for yourself than this.”
A clerk entered, Johnny rose. “On Monday next, then,” Johnny reminded him. ”

“ Harry Bennett, given to idle curiosity, approached and read the same. Harry Bennett, with his stick, poked the bundle, scattering its items over the counter.
“Donth do thath!” said the shopman, coming up. “Juth been putting 'em together.”
“What the devil,” said Harry Bennett, “is Johnny Bulstrode going to do with that rig-out?”
“How thoud I know?” answered the shopman. “Private theathricals, I suppoth. Friend o' yourth?”
“Yes,” replied Harry Bennett. “By Jove! he ought to make a good girl. Should like to see it!” ”

“ As it was, and after all that had happened, nothing now could astonish Johnny. “Thank Heaven,” murmured Johnny, as he blew out the light, “this Mrs. Postwhistle appears to be a reliable woman.”
Now, about the same time that Johnny's head was falling thus upon his pillow, the Autolycus Club sat discussing plans for their next day's entertainment.
“I think,” said Jack Herring, “the Crystal Palace in the morning when it's nice and quiet.”
“To be followed by Greenwich Hospital in the afternoon,” suggested Somerville. ”

“ He thought that if I could get an advertisement out of Landor, he might persuade his people to give us theirs.”
“And if you had gone to Landor, he would have promised you theirs provided you got Kingsley's.”
“They will come,” thought hopeful Peter. “We are going up steadily. They will come with a rush.”
“They had better come soon,” thought Clodd. “The only things coming with a rush just now are bills.”
“Those articles of young McTear's attracted a good deal of attention,” expounded Peter. “He has promised to write me another series.”
“Jowett is the one to get hold of,” mused Clodd. ”

“ Not the people that glance through a paper when it is lying on the smoking-room table, and tell you it is damned good, but the people that plank down their penny. That's the sort we want.”
Peter Hope, able editor, with ideals, was shocked—indignant. William Clodd, business man, without ideals, talked figures. ”

“ I would change with you if I could.”
“I'd have walked into that office and have had that advertisement out of old Jowett in five minutes, I know I would,” bragged Tommy. “I can always get on with old men.”
“Only with the old ones?” queried Miss Ramsbotham.
The door opened. “Anybody in?” asked the face of Johnny Bulstrode, appearing in the jar.
“Can't you see they are?” snapped Tommy.
“Figure of speech,” explained Johnny Bulstrode, commonly called “the Babe,” entering and closing the door behind him.
“What do you want?” demanded the sub-editor. ”

“ No. V—“GOOD HUMOUR” OBTAINS THE MARBLE SOAP ADVERTISEMENT PEOPLE said of the new journal, Good Humour—people of taste and judgment, that it was the brightest, the cleverest, the most literary penny weekly that ever had been offered to the public. This made Peter Hope, editor and part-proprietor, very happy. William Clodd, business manager, and also part-proprietor, it left less elated.
“Must be careful,” said William Clodd, “that we don't make it too clever. Happy medium, that's the ideal.” ”

“ Bulstrode's sister.”
Old Goslin found Jack Herring the centre of an earnest argument on Hamlet—was he really mad?
“A lady to see you, Mr. Herring,” announced old Goslin.
“A what?”
“Miss Bulstrode—Mr. Bulstrode's sister. She's waiting in the hall.”
“Never knew he had a sister,” said Jack Herring, rising.
“Wait a minute,” said Harry Bennett. “Shut that door. Don't go.” This to old Goslin, who closed the door and returned. “Lady in a heliotrope dress with a lace collar, three flounces on the skirt?”
“That's right, Mr. Bennett,” agreed old Goslin.
“It's the Babe himself!” asserted Harry Bennett. ”