THE CALL OF THE TOWN

The Call of the Town

A Tale of Literary Life

by

J. A. HAMMERTON

author of
"j. m. barrie and his books," "lord rosebery," "tony's
highland tour," etc.

LONDON
R. A. EVERETT & CO.
42 ESSEX STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1904

CONTENTS

chap. page

• "THE PROUD PARENT" 9
• HENRY LEAVES HOME 22
• THE REAL AND THE IDEAL 36
• MR. TREVOR SMITH, IF YOU PLEASE 53
• IN WHICH HENRY DECIDES 61
• WHICH INTRODUCES AN EDITOR 70
• AMONG NEW FRIENDS 80
• THE YOUNG JOURNALIST 91
• WHAT THE NECKTIE TOLD 100
• VIOLET EYES 111
• ONE'S FOLLY, ANOTHER'S OPPORTUNITY 122
• "A JOLLY, DASHING SORT OF GIRL" 136
• THE PHILANDERERS 147
• FATE AND A FIDDLER 157
• "THE MYSTERIOUS MR. P." 164
• DRIFTING 177
• THE WAY OF A WOMAN 192
• IN LONDON TOWN 202
• THE PEN AND THE PENCIL CLUB 214
• THREE LETTERS, AND SOME OTHERS 228
• "THAT BOOK" 239
• HOME AGAIN 246
• A TRAGIC ENDING 257
• ONE SUNDAY, AND AFTER 262

THE CALL OF THE TOWN

CHAPTER I

"THE PROUD PARENT"

If you happen to be riding a bicycle you arrive somewhat unexpectedly in the little Ardenshire village of Hampton Bagot, and are through it in a flash, before you quite realise its existence. But in the unlikely event of your having business or pleasure there, you approach the place more leisurely in the carrier's cart from the little station which absurdly bears the name of the village, though two miles distant.

The ancient Parish Church, with its curious old chained library and bits of Saxon masonry, "perfectly unique," as Mr. Godfrey Needham, the vicar, used to say, and the one wide street of quaint old houses, with their half-timbered fronts, remain to this day much as they were, no doubt, when good Queen Bess ruled England. But the thirsty cyclist, whose throat may happen to be parched at this particular stage of his journey, is a poor substitute for the old-time stage-coach which made Hampton Bagot a place of change. Somehow, the village continues to exist, though its few hundred people scrape their livings in ways that are not obvious to the casual visitor. The surrounding district is richly pastoral, plentifully sprinkled with cosy farm-houses, and here, perhaps, we have the reason why Hampton continues under the sun.

If you wandered along the few hundred yards of street, and noted the various substitutes for shops, in which oranges and sweets and babies' clothing mingle familiarly with hams and shoe-laces, you would be struck by the more pretentious exterior of one which bears in crudely-painted letters the legend, EDWARD JOHN CHARLES, and underneath, in smaller characters, the words Post Office. The building, a two-storied one, with the familiar blackened timbers supporting high-pitched gables, and a bay-window of lozenged glass, was, at the time of which I write, the place of next importance in the village to the "Wings and Spur." Behind this window, and by peering closely, one could see dusty packets of writing-paper and fly-blown envelopes, a few cheap books, clay and briar pipes, tobacco, and some withered-looking cigars. Below