Something New | Page 6

to me right on top of everything else. I don't
remember when I have felt so restless and discontented as this
morning."
"It's the Spring."
"I suppose it is. I feel like doing something big and adventurous."
"Well, do it then. You have a Morning Post on the table. Have you read
it yet?"
"I glanced at it."
"But you haven't read the advertisement pages? Read them. They may
contain just the opening you want."

"Well, I'll do it; but my experience of advertisement pages is that they
are monopolized by philanthropists who want to lend you any sum
from ten to a hundred thousand pounds on your note of hand only.
However, I will scan them."
Joan rose and held out her hand.
"Good-by, Mr. Marson. You've got your detective story to write, and I
have to think out something with a duke in it by to-night; so I must be
going." She smiled. "We have traveled a good way from the point
where we started, but I may as well go back to it before I leave you. I'm
sorry I laughed at you this morning."
Ashe clasped her hand in a fervent grip.
"I'm not. Come and laugh at me whenever you feel like it. I like being
laughed at. Why, when I started my morning exercises, half of London
used to come and roll about the sidewalks in convulsions. I'm not an
attraction any longer and it makes me feel lonesome. There are
twenty-nine of those Larsen Exercises and you saw only part of the first.
You have done so much for me that if I can be of any use to you, in
helping you to greet the day with a smile, I shall be only too proud.
Exercise Six is a sure-fire mirth-provoker; I'll start with it to-morrow
morning. I can also recommend Exercise Eleven--a scream! Don't miss
it."
"Very well. Well, good-by for the present."
"Good-by."
She was gone; and Ashe, thrilling with new emotions, stared at the door
which had closed behind her. He felt as though he had been wakened
from sleep by a powerful electric shock.
Close beside the sheet of paper on which he had inscribed the now
luminous and suggestive title of his new Gridley Quayle story lay the
Morning Post, the advertisement columns of which he had promised
her to explore. The least he could do was to begin at once.

His spirits sank as he did so. It was the same old game. A Mr. Brian
MacNeill, though doing no business with minors, was willing--even
anxious--to part with his vast fortune to anyone over the age of
twenty-one whose means happened to be a trifle straitened. This good
man required no security whatever; nor did his rivals in generosity, the
Messrs. Angus Bruce, Duncan Macfarlane, Wallace Mackintosh and
Donald MacNab. They, too, showed a curious distaste for dealing with
minors; but anyone of maturer years could simply come round to the
office and help himself.
Ashe threw the paper down wearily. He had known all along that it was
no good. Romance was dead and the unexpected no longer happened.
He picked up his pen and began to write "The Adventure of the Wand
of Death."
CHAPTER II
In a bedroom on the fourth floor of the Hotel Guelph in Piccadilly, the
Honorable Frederick Threepwood sat in bed, with his knees drawn up
to his chin, and glared at the day with the glare of mental anguish. He
had very little mind, but what he had was suffering.
He had just remembered. It is like that in this life. You wake up, feeling
as fit as a fiddle; you look at the window and see the sun, and thank
Heaven for a fine day; you begin to plan a perfectly corking luncheon
party with some of the chappies you met last night at the National
Sporting Club; and then--you remember.
"Oh, dash it!" said the Honorable Freddie. And after a moment's pause:
"And I was feeling so dashed happy!"
For the space of some minutes he remained plunged in sad meditation;
then, picking up the telephone from the table at his side, he asked for a
number.
"Hello!"
"Hello!" responded a rich voice at the other end of the wire.

"Oh, I say! Is that you, Dickie?"
"Who is that?"
"This is Freddie Threepwood. I say, Dickie, old top, I want to see you
about something devilish important. Will you be in at twelve?"
"Certainly. What's the trouble?"
"I can't explain over the wire; but it's deuced serious."
"Very well. By the way, Freddie, congratulations on the engagement."
"Thanks, old man. Thanks very much, and so on--but you won't forget
to be in at twelve, will you? Good-by."
He replaced the receiver quickly and sprang out of bed, for