Pharos the Egyptian | Page 8

man can
well hope or expect to be in this world. Before it had been twenty-four
hours "on the line," I had received several tempting offers for it; but as
I had set my heart on obtaining a certain sum, and was determined not
to accept less, you may suppose I did not give them much attention. If I
received what I wanted, I promised myself a treat I had been looking
forward to all my life. In that case I would take a long holiday, and
instead of spending the next winter in England, would start for Egypt in
the autumn, taking in Italy en route, make my way up the Nile, and be
home again, all being well, in the spring, or, at latest, during the early
days of summer.
Ever since I first became an exhibitor at Burlington House, I have made
it a rule to studiously avoid visiting the gallery after varnishing day.
My reasons would interest no one, but they were sufficiently strong to
induce me to adhere to them. This year, however, I was led into doing
so in a quite unintentional fashion, and as that exception vitally
concerns this narrative, I must explain the circumstances that led up to
it in detail.
On a certain Friday, early in June, I was sitting in my studio, after
lunch, wondering what I should do with myself during the afternoon,
when a knock sounded at the door, and a moment later, after I had
invited whoever stood outside to enter, my old friend, George
Merridew, his wife, son, and three daughters, trooped into the room.
They were plainly up from the country, and, as usual, were doing the
sights at express speed. George Merridew, as you know, stands six feet
in his stockings, and is broad in proportion. His face is red, his eyes
blue, and he carries with him wherever he goes the air of a prosperous
country squire, which he certainly is. Like many other big men, he is
unconscious of his strength, and when he shakes hands with you, you
have reason to remember the fact for five minutes afterwards. His wife

is small, and, as some folk declare, looks younger than her eldest
daughter, who is a tennis champion, a golfer, and boasts a supreme
contempt for Royal Academicians and, for that matter, for artists
generally. The son is at Oxford, a nice enough young fellow with
limpid blue eyes, who, to his father's disgust, takes no sort of interest in
fox-hunting, racing, football, or any other sport, and has openly
asserted his intention of entering the Church in the near future. There
are two other girls, Gwendoline and Ethel--the latter, by the way,
promises to be a second edition of her mother --who, at present, are in
the advanced schoolroom stage, dine with their parents, except on state
occasions, and play duets together on the piano with a conscientious
regard for time and fingering that gives their father no small amount of
pleasure, but with other people rather detracts from the beauty of the
performance.
"Thank goodness, we have got you at last!" cried Merridew, as he
rushed forward and gripped my hand with a cordiality that made me
suffer in silent agony for minutes afterwards. "But, my dear fellow,
what on earth induces you to live in a place that's so difficult to find?
We have been all round the neighbourhood, here, there, and
everywhere, making inquiries, and shouldn't have found you now had it
not been for an intelligent butcher-boy, who put us on the right scent
and enabled us to run you to earth at last."
"Such is fame, you see," I answered with a smile. One should be
humble when one reflects that the knowledge of one's address is
confined to a butcher-boy. "How do you do, Mrs. Merridew? I am sorry
you should have had so much difficulty in discovering my poor abode."
I shook hands with the rest of the family, and, when I had done so,
waited to be informed as to the reason of their visit.
"Now, look here," said the Squire, as he spoke, producing an enormous
gold repeater from his pocket, which by sheer force of habit he held in
his hand, though he never once looked at it during the time he was
speaking. "I'll tell you what we're going to do. In the first place, you're
to take us to the Academy to see your picture, which every one is
talking about, and at the same time to act as showman and tell us who's

who. After that you'll dine with us at the Langham, and go to the
theatre afterwards. No, no, it's not a bit of use your pretending you've
got another engagement. We don't come up to town