canary on the eve of the trial were in readiness weeks

before the event was due to take place; other films
depicted the Duchess holdingimaginary consultations with

fictitious lawyers or making a light repast off specially
advertised vegetarian sandwiches during a supposed

luncheon interval. As far as human foresight and human
enterprise could go nothing was lacking to make the trial

a success.
Two days before the case was down for hearing the

advance reporter of an important syndicateobtained an
interview with the Duke for the purpose of gleaning some

final grains of information concerning his Grace's
personal arrangements during the trial.

"I suppose I may say this will be one of the biggest
affairs of its kind during the lifetime of a generation,"

began the reporter as an excuse for the unsparing
minuteness of detail that he was about to make quest for.

"I suppose so - if it comes off," said the Duke
lazily.

"If?" queried the reporter, in a voice that was
something between a gasp and a scream.

"The Duchess and I are both thinking of going on
strike," said the Duke.

"Strike!"
The baleful word flashed out in all its old hideous

familiarity. Was there to be no end to its recurrence?
"Do you mean," faltered the reporter, "that you are

contemplating a mutual withdrawal of the charges?"
"Precisely," said the Duke.

"But think of the arrangements that have been made,
the special reporting, the cinematographs, the catering

for the distinguished foreign witnesses, the prepared
music-hall allusions; think of all the money that has

been sunk - "
"Exactly," said the Duke coldly, "the Duchess and I

have realised that it is we who provide the material out
of which this great far-reaching industry has been built

up. Widespread employment will be given and enormous
profits made during the duration of the case, and we, on

whom all the stress and racket falls, will get - what?
An unenviable notoriety and the privilege of paying heavy

legal expenses whichever way the verdict goes. Hence our
decision to strike. We don't wish to be reconciled; we

fully realise that it is a grave step to take, but unless
we get some reasonableconsideration out of this vast

stream of wealth and industry that we have called into
being we intend coming out of court and staying out.

Good afternoon."
The news of this latest strike spread universal

dismay. Its inaccessibility to the ordinary methods of
persuasion made it peculiarlyformidable. If the Duke

and Duchess persisted in being reconciled the Government
could hardly be called on to interfere. Public opinion

in the shape of social ostracism might be brought to bear
on them, but that was as far as coercive measures could

go. There was nothing for it but a conference, with
powers to propose liberal terms. As it was, several of

the foreign witnesses had already departed and others had
telegraphed cancelling their hotel arrangements.

The conference, protracted, uncomfortable, and
occasionally acrimonious, succeeded at last in arranging

for a resumption of litigation, but it was a fruitless
victory. The Duke, with a touch of his earlier

precocity, died of premature decay a fortnight before the
date fixed for the new trial.

THE ROMANCERS
IT was autumn in London, that blessed season between

the harshness of winter and the insincerities of summer;
a trustful season when one buys bulbs and sees to the

registration of one's vote, believing perpetually in
spring and a change of Government.

Morton Crosby sat on a bench in a secluded corner of
Hyde Park, lazily enjoying a cigarette and watching the

slow grazing promenade of a pair of snow-geese, the male
looking rather like an albino edition of the russet-hued

female. Out of the corner of his eye Crosby also noted
with some interest the hesitating hoverings of a human

figure, which had passed and repassed his seat two or
three times at shorteningintervals, like a wary crow

about to alight near some possibly edible morsel.
Inevitably the figure came to an anchorage on the bench,

within easy talking distance of its original occupant.
The uncared-for clothes, the aggressive, grizzled beard,

and the furtive, evasive eye of the new-comer bespoke the
professional cadger, the man who would undergo hours of

humiliating tale-spinning and rebuff rather than
adventure on half a day's decent work.

For a while the new-comer fixed his eyes straight in
front of him in a strenuous, unseeing gaze; then his

voice broke out with the insinuating inflection of one
who has a story to retail well worth any loiterer's while

to listen to.
"It's a strange world," he said.

As the statement met with no response he altered it
to the form of a question.

"I daresay you've found it to be a strange world,
mister?"

"As far as I am concerned," said Crosby, "the
strangeness has worn off in the course of thirty-six

years."
"Ah," said the greybeard, "I could tell you things

that you'd hardly believe. Marvellous things that have
really happened to me."

"Nowadays there is no demand for marvellous things
that have really happened," said Crosby discouragingly;

"the professional writers of fiction turn these things
out so much better. For instance, my neighbours tell me

wonderful, incredible things that their Aberdeens and
chows and borzois have done; I never listen to them. On

the other hand, I have read 'The Hound of the
Baskervilles' three times."

The greybeard moved uneasily in his seat; then he
opened up new country.

"I take it that you are a professing Christian," he
observed.

"I am a prominent and I think I may say an
influential member of the Mussulman community of Eastern

Persia," said Crosby, making an excursion himself into
the realms of fiction.

The greybeard was obviously disconcerted at this new
check to introductory conversation, but the defeat was

only momentary.
"Persia. I should never have taken you for a

Persian," he remarked, with a somewhat aggrieved air.
"I am not," said Crosby; "my father was an Afghan."

"An Afghan!" said the other, smitten into bewildered
silence for a moment. Then he recovered himself and

renewed his attack.
"Afghanistan. Ah! We've had some wars with that

country; now, I daresay, instead of fighting it we might