Father Payne | Page 3

home, more or less, in
a country village where I knew everyone; I travelled a little; and I paid
occasional visits to London, where several of my undergraduate and
school friends lived, with a vague idea of getting to know literary
people; but they were not very easy to meet, and, when I did meet them,
they did not betray any very marked interest in my designs and visions.
I was dining one night at a restaurant with a College friend of mine,
Jack Vincent, whose tastes were much the same as my own, only more
strenuous; his father and mother lived in London, and when I went
there I generally stayed with them. They were well-to-do, good-natured
people; but, beyond occasionally reminding Jack that he ought to be
thinking about a profession, they left him very much to his own devices,
and he had begun to write a novel, and a play, and two or three other
masterpieces.
That particular night his father and mother were dining out, so we
determined to go to a restaurant. And it was there that Vincent told me

about "Father" Payne, as he was called by his friends, though he was a
layman and an Anglican. He had heard all about him from an Oxford
man, Leonard Barthrop, some years older than ourselves, who was one
of the circle of men whom Father Payne had collected about him.
Vincent was very full of the subject. He said that Father Payne was an
elderly man, who had been for a good many years a rather unsuccessful
teacher in London, and that he had unexpectedly inherited a little
country estate in Northamptonshire. He had gradually gathered about
him a small knot of men, mainly interested in literature, who were
lodged and boarded free, and were a sort of informal community,
bound by no very strict regulations, except that they were pledged to
produce a certain amount of work at stated intervals for Father Payne's
inspection. As long as they did this, they were allowed to work very
much as they liked, and Father Payne was always ready to give
criticism and advice. Father Payne reserved the right of dismissing
them if they were idle, quarrelsome, or troublesome in any way, and
exercised it decisively. But Barthrop had told him that it was a most
delightful life; that Father Payne was a very interesting, good-natured,
and amusing man; and that the whole thing was both pleasant and
stimulating. There were certain rules about work and hours, and
members of the circle were not allowed to absent themselves without
leave, while Father Payne sometimes sent them off for a time, if he
thought they required a change. "I gather," said Vincent, "that he is an
absolute autocrat, and that you have to do what he tells you; but that he
doesn't preach, and he doesn't fuss. Barthrop says he has never been so
happy in his life." He went on to say that there were at least two
vacancies in the circle--one of the number had lately married, and
another had accepted a journalistic post. "Now what do you say," said
Vincent, "to us two trying to go there for a bit? You can try it, I believe,
without pledging yourself, for two or three months; and then if Father
Payne approves, and you want to go on, you can regularly join."
I confess that it seemed to me a very attractive affair, and all that
Vincent told me of the place, and particularly of Father Payne, attracted
me. Vincent said that he had mentioned me to Barthrop, and that
Barthrop had said that I might have a chance of getting in. It appeared
that we should have to go down to the place to be interviewed.
We made up our minds to apply, and that night Vincent wrote to

Barthrop. The answer was favourable. Two days later Vincent received
a note from Father Payne, written in a big, finely-formed hand, to the
effect that he would be glad to see Vincent any night that he could
come down, and that I might also arrange an interview, if I wished, but
that we were to come separately. "Mind," said the letter, "I can make no
promises and can give no reasons; but I will not keep either of you
waiting."
Vincent went first. He spent a night at Aveley Hall, as the place was
called. I continued my visit to his people, and awaited his return with
great interest.
He told me what had happened. He had been met at the station by an
odd little trap, had driven up to the house--a biggish place, close to a
small church, on the outskirts of a tiny village. It was dark when he
arrived, and he had found Father Payne