"Who's Monny Gall?"

"If you ever listened to your local radio station you would know. She is the soprano of the Heart and Hope Gospel Quartet, who broadcast on behalf of the Thirteenth Apostle Tabernacle five mornings of the week, from nine-thirty to nine forty-five. I breakfast a bit later than you proletarians, and I never miss the H. & H."

"Do you mean that it is good?"

"It is very good in its way. That's to say, it primes the pump of sweet self-pity, mingled with tremulous self-reproach and a strong sense of never having had a square deal from life, which passes for religion with a lot of people -- housewives mostly. It is run by an unctuous gorilla who calls himself Pastor Sidney Beamis; he dishes out the Hope in a short, moderately disgusting prayer in which he tells God that we're all pretty awful but that the Thirteenth Apostles are having a bash at sainthood. The Heart is supplied by the Quartet, which is composed of his own family and Monny Gall. Pastor Beamis supplies a hollow, gutty bass; his son Wesley weighs in with a capon tenor -- all headvoice and tremolo; Ma Beamis has a contralto tone like a cow mooing in a railway tunnel; and Monny Gall has a very nice soprano indeed - sweet, pure, and very naturally produced. You should hear them in Eden Must Have Been Like Granny's Garden, or Ten Baby Fingers and Ten Baby Toes, That Was My Mother's Rosary."

"It sounds perfectly filthy."

"It is. It fills me with perverse glee. But Monny is worth redeeming from this musical hell. She has positively the most promising voice I have ever heard in an untrained singer."

"Then what is she doing with the H. & H.?"

"Why shouldn't she be with it? Her Ma, who is an extremely formidable old party, is a pillar of the Thirteenth Apostle Tabernacle. She tells Monny to sing for Beamis, and Monny sings. For nothing, what's more. For the greater glory of Beamis."

"But if she's musical, why does she sing Granny's Toes, and so forth?"

"I didn't say she was musical; I said she had a lovely voice. You make the common error of assuming that singers are necessarily musicians. There are people, my dear Bridgetower, who sing because God has made them singers; very often they have no taste at all; they will sing anything, so long as they can open their mouths and give. That's Monny. Caught young, and taught well, I don't know what she mightn't rise to."

"You appear to be greatly interested in her."

"I am."

"Is she pretty, as well as stupid?"

"Bridgetower, you wound me! She isn't pretty and she isn't plain; she's just a girl. But she has an unusual voice, which Beamis is wrecking. You ought to remember her; she's the girl who sang My Task at your Mum's funeral."

"I don't remember anything about her."

"I do," said Veronica, who usually kept silent while Solly and Cobbler carried on their long, wandering, often quarrelsome conversations. "I thought it was a lovely voice. Sweet and pure and rather remote."

"Exactly. Monny can take a lot of the sting out of My Task. It's sheer gift; she hasn't any ideas about it. But something in her voice suggests beauty, and calm, and even reason, when what she is singing is unalloyed boloney."

"She hasn't put in an application for the Trust."

"Don't suppose the notion ever occurred to her. She's no climber. Her Ma keeps her down."

"Are you suggesting that we should write her to consider it? Snelgrove would have a fit!"

"Yes, and if it were thought that I had brought her name up, old Puss would have a fit. She hates me with the one pure passion of her life; she's always trying to get my job away from me. I'm not her notion of a Cathedral organist. But I could get hold of Monny and ask her to put in a bid, if you like."

"We've got to find somebody, and I don't give a damn who it is."

"Oh come, Bridgetower; you are speaking of money; don't be bitter."

"Why shouldn't I be bitter? I'm not greedy, God knows, but I'm human. The income on more than a million dollars, that might have been mine, is to be spent on a stranger. If my mother had left no money at all, I wouldn't have cared. If she had left the bulk of it to a charity, I wouldn't have cared. But she left it as she did to hurt me, and to register a final protest against my marriage. God, you'd think Veronica was a leper, and not just the daughter of a man she and Father quarrelled with twenty years ago. She has done everything that a will can do to humiliate and hurt me. I'm convinced she left me that hundred dollars simply to make the will hard to break. It would serve her right if her money did go to some wretched gospel-howler. If it outraged her cankered old soul in its smug Anglican heaven I'd be glad of it!"

"Oh Solly darling, you'll only make yourself ill," said Veronica.

"Let him have it out," said Cobbler. "Choking back hatred and hurt feelings causes ulcers, high blood-pressure and arthritis. Fact. All the medical books say so. Better get it out in words. It's the inarticulate people, who can't rail against fate, who get nasty diseases. Have a good rage, Bridgetower. Would you care to hit somebody? You may hit me one moderate blow if it would really help. Pretend I'm your late Mum."

"Don't joke about it," said Solly. "Don't you realize we've got to maintain this bloody great house on my cottage salary? That old Ethel hangs over us and pities us and bullies us because we're poor, and makes a favour of staying here when we'd a thousand times rather she went somewhere else. Just try to teach an extravagant old cook something about economy, if you want to break your heart! And people keep writing to us for money; they think this damned Bridgetower Trust is a grab-bag for every kind of good cause. If we say the Trust can't give, they ask us for something personally. What have we got to give? The estate pays the taxes on this house, but apparently the estate has no obligation to pay its running expenses without a special meeting of trustees. So last week I had to beg the Dean and old Puss for enough money to get the downstairs drain unplugged, and it took an hour and a half of humming and hawing, and suggestions about trying Draino, to get it. I face a future of that kind of thing. A happy prospect, isn't it?"

"As Molly said, it's the Dead Hand," said Cobbler.

"Dead Hand!" Solly thumped the table. "It's the live hand, too. This house is part of a trust. During the summer Veronica put away some trinkets and odds and bobs that used to clutter up the mantelpieces. Last week old Puss came in, missed them at once, and insisted that they be put back. And when we boggled at it, she got Snelgrove to phone and say that, legally, we must maintain the house precisely as the Trust received it. Isn't that a sweet situation? She hinted that we ought to put away the Rockingham, but I'm going to use it every day, to spite her. I'll feed the cat off it; that's my right, and I'll do it."

"Your late Mum was really a corker," said Cobbler. "Most people want to ensure that everything they leave will remain untouched, but she has actually found a way to do it. Of course she was singularly fortunate in having an old poison-pot like Puss for a best friend."

"Well, you see how it is," said Solly. "I'm completely tied, and Veronica is put in a most humiliating position. What can we do? The only possible thing is to maintain what dignity we can, and insist that the terms of the will be kept as strictly for everyone else as they are for us. Therefore I insist that somebody be chosen and sent abroad by the Trust within the allotted time, and I do not give a damn who it is or what they are studying, or what rage, despair and misery comes of it. What Mother began, I shall finish, and nothing will come in my way."

"All right," said Cobbler; "I'll talk to Monny Gall."

[FIVE].

It was well into October before Monica Gall met the executors. She had, prompted by Cobbler, written a letter of application, in which she said simply that she liked singing, and wanted to learn more about it, and mentioned her connection with the Heart and Hope Quartet as evidence that she was serious, and had sung publicly. She gave the name of Pastor Sidney Beamis as a reference.

Miss Puss Pottinger was inclined to dismiss her application on the first reading. Miss Pottinger knew nothing of Pastor Beamis, and had never set foot in the Thirteenth Apostle Tabernacle, but she had a powerful contempt for what she called "back-street religion". This condemnation was superficially unjust, for the Tabernacle was in a disused shop on a business street. But it was to the back streets of the religious life that Miss Puss referred; in her Father's house were many mansions, but some of them were in better parts of the Holy City than others; the Thirteenth Apostle Tabernacle obviously belonged in the slums of the spirit.

The Very Reverend Jevon Knapp also disapproved of Monica's sponsorship, but he knew much more about it. He had an eighteenth-century distaste for Enthusiasm in religion, which he was prepared to defend on theological and philosophical grounds. He disliked the untidy beliefs of the Thirteeners, as they were often called. This sect had been founded in the USA by one Myron Coffey, an advertising salesman who found himself, in 1919, forty-five years old and not doing well in the world. It was in that same year that Mr Henry Ford, speaking in a witness box in Chicago, made his great declaration that "History is bunk". These apocalyptic words struck fire in Coffey. History was indeed bunk; the seeming division of history into years and eras was an illusion; the whole world of the senses was an illusion, obviously created by the Devil. All mankind of whom any record existed, were in fact coaevals in the realm of the spirit, which was the only real realm. Christ, Moses, Jeremiah -- they were all right here, living and breathing beside us, if we could just "make contact". That could be done by prayer, searching the Scriptures, and leading a good life; Coffey explained the good life in terms of what he believed his mother's life to have been -- unstinting service to others, simple piety, mistrust of pleasure, and no truck with thought or education beyond what was necessary to read the Good Book. All these wonders came to Coffey in a single week, culminating in a revelation that he was the Thirteenth Apostle, destined to spread the good news to mankind. And that news was that the New Jerusalem was right here, if only enough poor souls could "make contact". God was here: Christ was now. He fought down any last feeling that perhaps it was Mr Ford who was really the Thirteenth Apostle, and set to work. Thirty-odd years later, in two or three hundred cities in the USA and Canada, a few thousand Thirteeners continued his mission.

Dean Knapp knew all this, and thought poorly of it. He also had a poor opinion of the Thirteeners' local shepherd, Pastor Beamis. The Dean had met him, and thought him an ignoramus, and possibly a rogue, as well. He was professionally obliged to think as well of everybody as possible, but he confided to Mrs Knapp that Scripture came to his aid in the matter of Beamis; did not Leviticus xxi 18 expressly forbid the priesthood to "he that hath a flat nose"? And had not Beamis the flat, bun-like, many times broken nose of the ex-pugilist? Mrs Knapp warned him not to speak such frivolities in the hearing of those who might not understand; the Dean's passion for Biblical jokes had put him in hot water many times. But she knew very well what her husband meant; there was about Beamis a hairiness, a clumsiness, a physically unseemly quality which sat ill upon a spiritual leader. The Jews of the Old Testament had done wisely to forbid the priesthood to grotesques.

It gave Solly much satisfaction to override Miss Puss and the Dean. Monica Gall should not be passed over because she belonged to a sect for which they felt a Pharisaical distaste, said he, and thereby gave offence to the Dean, who was not accustomed to be called a Pharisee by young men of twenty-seven. He had to swallow it, and after a good deal of haggling it was decided that Monica should be interviewed.

But should they not have some expert advice, asked the Dean. They had sought counsel outside their own group about Miss Hetmansen's work; could they judge a singer unaided? By a little juggling Solly was able to lead the Dean into proposing Humphrey Cobbler as adviser to the Trustees in matters of music; Miss Puss did not like it, but she did not oppose the Dean as she would have opposed Solly in such a suggestion. She contented herself with saying that Cobbler was probably a capable musician, though a detestable man.

Thus it was that on a Thursday night in mid-October the executors and their solicitor gathered in the drawing-room of the Bridgetower house, and there received Mr and Mrs Alfred Gall, their daughter, Monica, and Pastor Sidney Beamis.

Pastor Beamis had not been invited, but he was the first to stride into the room.

"Well, well, good evening Reverend Knapp," he cried, seizing the Dean's hand in his clammy, pulpy paws; "this is certainly a wonderful thing you fine folks are proposing to do for our little girl. Yes, and considering you're all Church of England people it shows a degree of inter-faith fellowship which is more than warming -- more than warming. Now I know you weren't expecting me, and I'm not going to butt in, but because I have watched Monny grow, so to speak, from a gawky kid into a lovely girl, and because I think I may say that it has been my privilege, under God, to humbly have coaxed along her talent, I just couldn't stay away. I just had to be here." He dropped his voice, and whispered to Knapp in a priest-to-priest tone -- "Family aren't much in the way of talkers; thought I might be able to steer 'em a little." He gave the Dean an understanding leer, and patted him on the back. The Dean reclaimed his hand and wiped it on his handkerchief.

Pastor Beamis was so striking a figure that he temporarily obscured the Galls. He wore the full regimentals of a Thirteener shaman. His suit was of grey flannel, much in need of pressing; he had on a wing collar, and a clergyman's stock, which was of a shrill paddy green; the ensemble was completed by a pair of scuffed sports shoes in brown and white, above which could be seen socks in Argyll design. Inside these garments was a body which had won him the name of Chimp during his days in the ring; his face was large, baggy and bore blatant signals of hope, cheer and unremitting forgiveness.

The Galls, thought Solly, might have posed for a picture of Mr and Mrs Jack Sprat. Alfred Gall was thin to the point of being cadaverous, stooped, pale and insignificant. His wife was covered with that loose, liquid fat which seems to sway and slither beneath the skin, and she, because she wore too tight a corset, wheezed whenever she made the slightest effort. She had a look of nervous good-nature, and every few minutes she eased her false teeth, which seemed to pain her; indeed, as the evening wore on she began to suck air audibly, as though her dentures were hot.

Monica, as Cobbler had said, was neither pretty nor plain, though she was of a trim figure. She was plainly dressed, as became a Thirteener, and it was apparent to the X-ray eye of Miss Puss that the disqualification which had brought about the fall of Birgitta Hetmansen did not apply here.

Conversation proceeded uneasily. It was necessary, first of all, to make it clear to Pastor Beamis that Monica had not been summoned to receive a large sum of money. This task fell to Snelgrove, who found it congenial. It was then explained to the Galls how the Trust was expected to work.

"If your daughter should become the beneficiary, it would give her a most unusual opportunity to pursue her musical studies," said the Dean.

"Yeah, I see," said Mrs Gall, and fidgeted with the handle of her purse, sucking air painfully. "It'd take her away from home, though." She had chosen to sit on a low sofa, and appeared to be suffering discomfort from her corset, which had visibly ridden upward.

"Never had much of a chance m'self," said Alfred Gall. "Workin' since I was sixteen. Never known much else but work, I guess." He laughed a short hollow laugh, like a man making light of an incurable disease.

Pastor Beamis was right; the Galls were not great talkers. Nor, it was soon clear, were they among those who eagerly embrace good fortune. They thought it might be nice if their daughter had a chance to study music abroad, but in the depths of their hearts it was a matter of indifference to them. The Pastor supplied all the enthusiasm. He talked a great deal about the opportunities a singer enjoyed to do the Lord's work, by uplifting people and turning their minds to the finer things of life; in his own work he had been able to observe the splendid harvest of souls which could be reaped through the Ministry of Music. He pleaded eloquently with the Galls not to deny their daughter the chance that was being offered to her to be a force for good in the world. It was at this point that Solly thought it necessary to correct the balance of power.

"We haven't made up our minds about Miss Gall, you know," said he. "We have considered her application carefully, and this interview is merely to find out more about her. None of us has heard her sing; she may not be the person we are looking for at all."

"You haven't heard her on the Heart and Hope?" said Beamis. He was very merry about this. "You folks must be late risers. Certainly is nice to be some people! Our little programme enjoys a very high raring locally, you know. And of course we tape it and broadcast it from seven other stations, beside the local one. It's by far the biggest religious independent in the province -- barring metropolitan city broadcasts, of course. Manny's voice is known -- and loved, as I can show letters to prove -- by close to twenty thousand daily listeners." .

"What is she paid for that work?" asked Miss Puss.

"The Heart and Hope is not a paid quartet. We merely announce that we are unpaid on the air, and freewill offerings come in by every mail. Silver coins -- O, it would touch your heart, some of them -- and dollar bills and quite a few fives and tens. The law forbids us to ask for money on the air, but it comes, all the same. And every cent goes into the Tabernacle treasury."

"You are the treasurer?" said the Dean, who could not resist it.

"I take care of the financial end, and of course the books are open to inspection by any of our members, any time they choose to see them." Pastor Beamis fixed the Dean with a grimace in which brotherly love, transparent honesty and sorrow were mingled.

"You have some other work, then?" said Solly to Monica.

"She's a clerk at the plant where her Dad works," said Beamis. "In the Costing Department, Monny did very well in Commercial at High. But you're wrong when you say you haven't heard Monny; she sang at your dear Mother's funeral. A lovely little Classic -- My Task -- sweet thing. And did you realize that Monny had never seen or heard of it until eighteen hours before she went on the air -- sorry, before the sad occasion? Mr Cobbler brought it to her the night before; she ran through it a coupla times with him; sang it perfectly at three the next afternoon. Monny's quite a little trouper. Get up anything at short notice and turn in a fine performance. Not many singers can do that. You've heard her, and you didn't even notice!" Pastor Beamis laughed chidingly.

"Our attention was elsewhere," said Miss Puss, and the Pastor's rubber face immediately assumed an expression of understanding and condolence; but he was not abashed, which was what she had hoped for.

"I think we should hear Miss Gall now," said Solly. "I'll ask Mr Cobbler to come in."

[SIX].

"Well?" said Solly to the executors, when at last Beamis had herded his charges out of the house and disappeared, still talking, down the walk. "What did you think of her?"

"There is no question in my mind that she is a very nice girl," said the Dean. "It seemed to me that she handled herself modestly and with dignity in a difficult situation. But whether she is the girl we are looking for is very much an open question. I'm not impressed by her parents, or by that man, who seems to be a dominating influence in her life -- if I may make such a remark without being accused of Phariseeism," he added, cocking an eye at Solly.

"I suppose it's ability, rather than character, that we're looking for," said Solly, avoiding the glance and looking at Snelgrove.

"Are they ever found apart?" said the lawyer.

"Very often, in the arts, I believe. Are we going to hold it against the girl that her parents are stupid and dominated by a quack evangelist? I thought she seemed intelligent and pleasant. If she can really profit by the kind of training we are able to give her -- I should say, that we can pay for -- isn't that the main thing?"

"Unless you believe that the girl is a genius, and so beyond the usual rules of probability, you must certainly take these other things into account," said the Dean. "You can educate her beyond her parents, and make her into something that they might not recognize, but you will not really raise her very far. You can polish and mount a pebble, but it remains a pebble. I do not blame the girl, of whom I know no more than the rest of you, but it is plain that she is being exploited by that creature Beamis; she sings in his quartet, which consists otherwise of his own family, and which I happen to know coins money. If she were a person of real character -- more character than her parents, for instance -- would she put up with that?"

"She's only twenty, Mr Dean," said Solly, "and, saving your reverence, it is not easy for a very young person to rebel against a clergyman who has full parental support. It seems to me that her voice is the real clue to the problem. What did you think of it?"

"I really can't say," said the Dean. "I was so embarrassed by the things she sang. I don't pretend to a deeply informed taste in music, but really --!"

"I can't quite agree," said Miss Puss, who had sat in uncharacteristic silence since the Galls left. "I was greatly moved by her singing of Tosti's Good-Bye! -- a song I have not heard in many, many years. I suppose I am the only person here who recalls that it was the favourite ballad of Queen Victoria. Unfashionable now, possibly, but truly touching. Once, many years ago, I heard Melba sing it. And, do you know, this girl reminded me uncannily of Melba? Did you feel that?"

She had turned to Snelgrove. He had never heard Melba, but he knew she had been intensely patriotic during the First Great War, and was therefore an artist of the highest rank, so he frowned in a critical fashion and replied, "Not quite Melba, perhaps, but I felt there was a smack of Clara Butt."

This remark set Miss Puss and the lawyer off in a competition of recalling all the great singers they had heard, and as neither had wide experience this quickly became all the great singers they had heard of, whose names they brought up with apparent casualness; they did not say they had heard these queens of song, but they were not unwilling that others should think so; in charity it may be assumed that they had heard them on the gramophone. The names of Emma Eames, Amelita Galli-Curci, Geraldine Farrar, Louise Homer, Luisa Tetrazzini and Ernestine Schumann-Heink were used very freely, and startling comparisons drawn, without much regard for whether these ladies had been sopranos or contraltos. This cultivated pow-wow did much to raise the spirits of Miss Puss and Mr Snelgrove, and to give them, for the first time, a sense that they were patrons of art and fountains of culture. When the lawyer had scored heavily by dragging in "our great Canadian diva, Madame Albani, whom I was once lucky enough to hear in Montreal" Solly thought that this had gone far enough.

"Perhaps we should return to the present day and hear what the one expert among us thinks of Monica Gall's voice," said he. Cobbler, who had remained at the piano, dug vigorously into his hair with his fingers, until it stood on end like the wool of a Hottentot. Then he fixed the executors with his bright black eyes.

"Nice voice," said he. "Nice tone; well-placed, really, considering that she's had no training at all. But that's the trouble, you see: maybe we've heard all there is. Maybe nothing further would come, however much you trained it. Oh, that's not quite fair; it would be bound to develop a little bit, but who can say how much? Promising, probably. But how can you tell? We didn't really hear enough."

"Then why did you not ask to hear more?" said Snelgrove. He liked an expert to behave like an expert, and not temporize.

"We could have listened to her for another hour without learning anything more than we did. Her music was terrible. I knew how things stood as soon as she opened her portfolio; it was jampacked with that awful cheap music printed on grey paper. All tripe. Good-Bye! was her star piece; I suppose Beamis thinks it's a classic. So it is, in the musical hell he and the Heart and Hope Quartet inhabit. To find out what her voice is really like, you'd have to work with her for a few months -- increase her range, give her something to sing that would show what she could do, and generally explore the possibilities."

"That's not very helpful," said Miss Puss.

"I'm afraid it isn't. But it's honest. There's one thing to be said in the girl's favour. She's stood out against some very bad musical influences; her only teacher, I understand, is an aunt who plays the piano a little. And the Beamis association is abominable; couldn't imagine anything more calculated to wreck a voice and debauch a singer's taste. Yet, the fact is that the girl sings with a good deal of taste and a nice feeling for the words, considering the stuff she's singing. It must be native to her, though where she gets it I can't imagine. You're dead right, Miss Pottinger; she really did tear off old Good-Bye! with quite a sense of style, and it's not the easiest song in the world. There may be something there, if you want to dig for it."

"We haven't any time for digging," said Solly. "We're desperate; the income on something like a million dollars has to be spent on somebody, beginning not later than next December 23. Can't we get some clearer opinion than what you've said?"

"Not from me," said Cobbler. "I can't square a flat Yes or No with my professional honesty; if I say she's no good I may be wronging you and the girl, and if I say she's a wonder the odds are just as strong that I am wrong. Certainly, if it were a question of some lessons with me, I'd say go ahead. I'd be happy to get such a pupil. But you are going to spend such a lot of money; you've got to show big results or look silly. If you want another opinion, I know where you can get one."

"Yes?"

"Next month Sir Benedict Domdaniel is conducting two concerts in Toronto, on his way back from Australia and the States. He'll be there for ten days or so, rehearsing. If you like, I'll write to his agent and ask if he'll hear the girl, and give you his word on her."

The effect of this was an even greater tonic to Miss Puss and Snelgrove than the mention of Melba had been. This was culture indeed -- to enlist the opinion of one of the greatest conductors in the world who was also -- this weighed heavily -- a British knight! Why were they trifling with a cathedral organist when such distinction lay within their grasp? Condescendingly, as people used to hob-nobbing with gifted knights, they asked Cobbler to make the necessary arrangements, and of course to inquire, tactfully, what Sir Benedict's fee would be for such an interview.

It had not occurred to them to offer Cobbler any fee whatever.

[SEVEN].

The pattern upon which the Bridgetower Trust was to operate had already established itself before the Trust was officially in being -- for Snelgrove made it very clear that until the probate of Mrs Bridgetower's will the Trust had no funds, and a trust without funds was a mockery. The pattern was a simple one: nothing could be done without prolonged discussion, in which Miss Puss and Solly were certain to be opposed, with the Dean trying to keep peace and advocate common sense, and Snelgrove making all the trouble possible to an expert who has great influence but no vote. The seemingly simple matter of getting Monica Gall away to Toronto for an interview with Sir Benedict Domdaniel became, in their hands, an elaborate and vexatious manoeuvre.

The Dean thought that the Trust should pay her fare on the train, but need not necessarily pay for her meals while she was absent. Snelgrove said that as the Trust had no funds, it could not pay for anything. Solly pointed out that the Trust had already spent money, which Snelgrove's firm had advanced, on repairing drains in the Bridgetower house. Snelgrove countered by saying that he could justify such an expenditure before a court, but he could not justify spending any money on a candidate for the Trust's bounty who might prove, in the end, to be unsuccessful. Miss Puss felt that it was undesirable to encourage Monica to hope for success by paying her fare, but that the Trust ought to pay the fare of an older woman who would accompany her to Toronto, as a chaperone. The Trust would be in a very bad position, she pointed out, if any harm befell Monica while she was on a journey to a large city, undertaken at the request of the Trust. She was herself prepared to go with the girl, and to remain with her during her interview with the great man; Monica had shown herself to be a poor talker, and somebody who was not awed by greatness should certainly be on hand to see that her chances were not spoiled by sheer social ineptitude. Solly, out of spite, agreed, but said that if anybody went with Monica it should certainly be an accompanist, and recommended Cobbler for that task; his wife, Veronica, would be prepared to drive the two of them to Toronto in their car, and serve as moral watchdog; the Trust could defray the expenses of the motor trip and still be money ahead. It took an evening of wrangling to reach a deadlock on this question.

Another evening was consumed in haggling about Sir Benedict Domdaniel's fee. His agent had written to Cobbler saying that the great man could see Miss Gall, and would send a written opinion to the Trust, and that his charge for an audition would be two hundred and fifty dollars. Miss Puss was outraged, and spoke to Cobbler as though he himself had demanded this shocking sum; he replied, with spirit, that men like Domdaniel asked big fees for auditions simply in order that they should not be plagued by people who were not serious; he added some ill-considered words about amateurs, which gave deep offence. Snelgrove refused utterly to advance money for such a purpose. And so, after a very long and heated argument, it was decided that if Monica Gall herself could raise Domdaniel's fee, and her own journey-money, she could risk it on her chances. The Trust asked Cobbler to put this proposal to her, and he refused flatly to do it, adding with heat that if the Trust meant to be cheap, he was not going to be the goat for them. In the end, Snelgrove was instructed to offer her this unique opportunity to invest in her own future, by letter. The Trust was somewhat astonished to receive a reply, by return of post, in which Monica said that she would be glad to pay her own expenses, and thanked them for the chance. It was a very good letter, typed and expressed in the dry language of business, and it made Solly and the Dean, at least, feel that Monica had not revealed the best side of herself at the earlier interview.

[EIGHT].