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Design Recipes for FPGAs
Using Verilog and VHDL

Peter Wilson
First edition 2007
Second edition 2016

© 2016 Elsevier Ltd.

Previous edition: Copyright © 2007 Peter R. Wilson

Printed and bound in the United Kingdom

ISBN: 978-0-08-097129-2
Preface to the Second Edition

The original idea behind the first edition of this book was to collect some of the useful
methods for designing digital systems using FPGAs that I had accumulated over the years and
had been passing on to students in our courses at the University of Southampton. As a result,
the original book was written using VHDL, as this was very often the hardware description
language of choice for university students and for many courses (as was the case at
Southampton).
The intervening time has seen the development of other options, such as System-C or
System-Verilog (plus the continuing popularity of Verilog). One of the common questions
to me was “Why is there not a Verilog edition of this book?”. I have therefore taken the
opportunity with the second edition to introduce Verilog, to widen the applicability of the
book to as many designers as possible.
The second edition also offers the chance to correct errors and take on board the numerous
reviews over the past seven years since the first edition was published. For these comments
and suggestions I am most grateful to the readers of the book. FPGAs have also moved on in
leaps and bounds since the first edition, and this also gives an opportunity to update some of
the technological background and correct errors in the first edition.
Above all else, this book was not and is not intended to be a textbook for digital systems
design, but rather a useful handbook for designers to dip in and use wherever it can help.
I sincerely hope you find this book useful and good luck with your FPGA designs!
Peter Wilson
University of Bath
Preface to the First Edition

This book is designed to be a desktop reference for engineers, students and researchers who
use field programmable gate arrays (FPGAs) as their hardware platform of choice. This book
has been produced in the spirit of the “numerical recipe” series of books for various
programming languages – where the intention is not to teach the language per se, but rather
the philosophy and techniques required in making your application work. The rationale of this
book is similar in that the intention is to provide the methods and understanding to enable the
reader to develop practical, operational VHDL that will run correctly on FPGAs.
It is important to stress that this book is not designed as a language reference manual for
VHDL. There are plenty of those available and I have referenced them throughout the text.
This book is intended as a reference for design with VHDL and can be seen as complementary
to a conventional VHDL textbook.
 PA R T 1

Overview

The first part of the book provides a starting point for engineers who may have some digital
experience but not necessarily with FPGAs in particular, or with either of the languages
featured in this book (VHDL and Verilog). While the book is not intended to teach either
language, “primers” are given in both as aides de memoire to get started. An overview of the
main design approaches and tool flows is also provided as a starting point.
 CHAPTER 1

Introduction

1.1 Overview
The book is divided into five main parts. In the introductory part of the book, primers are
given on FPGAs (field-programmable gate arrays), Verilog and the standard design flow. In
the second part of the book, a series of complex applications that encompass many of the key
design problems facing designers today are worked through from start to finish in a practical
way. This will show how the designer can interpret a specification, develop a top-down design
methodology and eventually build in detailed design blocks perhaps developed previously or
by a third party. In the third part of the book, important techniques are discussed, worked
through and explained from an example perspective so you can see exactly how to implement
a particular function. This part is really a toolbox of advanced specific functions that are
commonly required in modern digital design. The fourth part on advanced techniques
discusses the important aspect of design optimization, that is, how can I make my design
faster, or more compact? The fifth part investigates the details of fundamental issues that are
implemented in VHDL and Verilog. This final part is aimed at designers with a limited VHDL
or Verilog coding background, perhaps those looking for simpler examples to get started, or to
solve a particular detailed issue.

1.2 Verilog vs. VHDL

One of the longest standing “arguments” between engineers in digital design has been the
issue of which is best—Verilog or VHDL? For many years this was partly a geographical
divide, with North America seeming to be mainly using Verilog and Europe going more for
VHDL, although this was not universal by any means. In many cases, the European academic
community was trending toward VHDL with its easy applicability to system level design, and
the perception that Verilog was really more a “low level” design language. With the advent of
SystemVerilog and the proliferation of design tools, these boundaries and arguments have
largely subsided, and most engineers realize that they can use IP blocks from either language
in most of the design tools. Of course, individuals will always have their own preferences;
however it is true to say that now it is genuinely possible to be language agnostic and use
whichever language and tools the user prefers. More often than not, the choice will depend on
4 Chapter 1

three main factors: (a) the experience of the user (for example, they may have a background in
a particular language); (b) the tools available (for example, some tool flows may simply work
better with a particular language—SystemVerilog for instance may not be supported by the
tools available); and (c) corporate decisions (where the company or institution has a
preference for a specific language, and in turn this may mean that libraries must be in a
specific format and language). For researchers, there is a plethora of information on all design
languages available, with many example designs published on the web, making it relatively
simple to use one or another of the main languages, and sometimes even a mixture of
languages (using precompiled libraries, for example). Of course, this is also available to
employees of companies and free material is now widely available from sources such as Open
Cores (http://www.opencores.org), the Free Model Foundry (http://www.freemodelfoundry.
com/) and the Open Hardware Repository at CERN (http://www.ohwr.org/).

1.3 Why FPGAs?

There are numerous options for designers in selecting a hardware platform for custom
electronics designs, ranging from embedded processors, application specific integrated
circuits (ASICs), programmable microprocessors (PICs), FPGAs to programmable logic
devices (PLDs). The decision to choose a specific technology such as an FPGA should depend
primarily on the design requirements rather than a personal preference for one technique over
another. For example, if the design requires a programmable device with many design
changes, and algorithms using complex operations such as multiplications and looping, then it
may make more sense to use a dedicated signal processor device such as a DSP that can be
programmed and reprogrammed easily using C or some other high level language. If the speed
requirements are not particularly stringent and a compact cheap platform is required, then a
general purpose microprocessor such as a PIC, AVR, or MBED would be an ideal choice.
Finally, if the hardware requirements require a higher level of performance, say up to several
hundred megahertz operation, then an FPGA offers a suitable level of performance, while still
retaining the flexibility and reusability of programmable logic.
Other issues to consider are the level of optimization in the hardware design required. For
example, a simple software program can be written in C and then a microprocessor
programmed, but the performance may be limited by the inability of the processor to offer
parallel operation of key functions. This can be implemented much more directly in an FPGA
using parallelism and pipelining to achieve much greater throughput than would be possible
using a microprocessor. A general rule of thumb when choosing a hardware platform is to
identify both the design requirements and the possible hardware options and then select a
suitable platform based on those considerations. For example, if the design requires a basic
clock speed of up to 1 GHz then an FPGA would be a suitable platform. If the clock speed
could be 3-4 MHz, then the FPGA may be an expensive (overkill) option. If the design
 Introduction 5

requires a flexible processor option, although the FPGAs available today support embedded
processors, it probably makes sense to use a DSP or microprocessor. If the design requires
dedicated hardware functionality, then an FPGA is the route to take.
If the design requires specific hardware functions such as multiplication and addition, then a
DSP may well be the best route, but if custom hardware design is required, then an FPGA
would be the appropriate choice. If the design requires small simple hardware blocks, then a
PLD or CPLD may be the best option (compact, simple programmable logic); however, if the
design has multiple functions, or a combination of complex controller and specific hardware
functions, then the FPGA is the route to take. Examples of this kind of decision can be
dependent on the complexity of the hardware involved. For example, a high performance
signal processor with multiple parallel tasks will probably require an FPGA rather than a PLD
device, simply due to the complexity of the hardware involved. Another related issue is that of
flexibility and programmability. If an FPGA is used, and the resources are not used up on a
specific device (say up to 60% for example), if a communications protocol changes, or is
updated, then the device may well have enough headroom to support additional features, or
updates, in the future.
Finally, the cost of manufacture will be important for products in the field, as well as where
the device is deployed (in terms of the overall weight, power requirements, footprint, and
volume). Also, the need for upgrading firmware may mandate an FPGA to allow this to be
done easily. The use of an FPGA also allows much higher performance, particularly on high
speed links or memory, enabling the design to be somewhat tolerant of future changes.

1.4 Summary
Using the simple guidelines and with the aid of some of the examples in this book, an
engineer can hopefully make an intelligent choice about the best platform to choose, and also
which hardware device to select based on these assumptions. A nice aspect of most FPGA
design software packages is that multiple design platforms can be evaluated for performance
and utilization prior to making a final decision on the hardware of choice. This book will show
how both VHDL and Verilog can be used to solve typical design problems, and hopefully will
help designers get their own designs completed faster and more efficiently.
 CHAPTER 2

An FPGA Primer

2.1 Introduction
This section is an introduction to the Field Programmable Gate Array (FPGA) platform for
those unfamiliar with the technology. It is useful when designing hardware to understand that
the context that the hardware description language models (VHDL or Verilog) is important
and relevant to the ultimate design.

2.2 FPGA Evolution

Since the inception of digital logic hardware in the 1970s, there has been a plethora of
individual semiconductor digital devices leading to the ubiquitous TTL logic series still in use
today (74/54 series logic), now extended to CMOS technology (HC, AC, FC, FCT, HCT, and
so on). While these have been used extensively in printed circuit board (PCB) design and still
are today, there has been a consistent effort over the last 20 years to introduce greater
programmability into basic digital devices.
One of the reasons for this need is the dichotomy resulting from the two differing design
approaches used for many digital systems. On the hardware side, the drive is usually toward
ultimate performance, that is, faster, smaller, lower power, and cheaper. This often leads to
custom integrated circuit design (Application Specific Integrated Circuits or ASICs) where
each chip (ASIC) has to be designed, laid out, fabricated, and packaged individually. For large
production runs this is very cost effective, but obviously this approach is hugely expensive
(masks alone for a current silicon process may cost over $500,000) and time consuming (can
take up to a year or even more for large and complex designs).
From a software perspective, however, a more standard approach is to use a standard
processor architecture such as Intel Pentium, PowerPC or ARM, and develop software
applications that can be downloaded onto such a platform using standard software
development tools and cross compilers. This type of approach is obviously quicker to
implement an initial working platform; however, usually there is a significant overhead due to
the need for operating systems, compiler inefficiency and also a performance reduction due to
the indirect relationship between the hardware and the software on the processor. The other
8 Chapter 2

issue from a hardware perspective is often the compromise necessary when using a standard
platform, for example will it be fast enough? Another key issue when designing hardware is
having access to that hardware. In many processor platforms, the detailed hardware is often
difficult to access directly or efficiently enough to meet the performance needs of the system,
and with the rigid architecture in terms of data bus and address bus widths on standard
processors, very often there is no scope for general purpose IO (Inputs and Outputs) which are
useful for digital designers.
As a result, programmable devices have been developed as a form of intermediate approach:
hardware design on a high-performance platform, optimal resources with no operating system
required and reconfigurable as the devices can be reprogrammed.

2.3 Programmable Logic Devices

The first type of device to be programmable was the Programmable Array Logic (PAL) with a
typical layout as shown in Figure 2.1. This consists of an array of logic gates that could be
connected using an array of connections. These devices could support a small number of
flip-flops (usually <10) and were able to implement small state machines. These devices still
have a use for specific functions on a small scale, but clearly will be limited for more complex
applications. They are, however, still useful for low-cost and compact solutions to a specific
digital design requirement.
Complex Programmable Logic Devices (CPLD) such as shown in Figure 2.2 were developed
to address the limitations of simple PAL devices. These devices used the same basic principle
as PALs, but had a series of macro blocks (each roughly equivalent to a PAL) that were
connected using routing blocks. With, in some cases, many thousands of logical elements, the
CPLD can be extremely useful for implementing a programmable device with custom logic
functions and state machines. In some ways, the latest CPLD and early FPGA devices are
almost indistinguishable, with one crucial difference. The CPLD is a fixed array of logic, but
the FPGA uses complex logic blocks (discussed in the next section of this chapter). However,
CPLDs are still of a relatively small scale, and the modern reconfigurable device of choice for
high performance is the FPGA.

2.4 Field Programmable Gate Arrays

Field Programmable Gate Arrays (FPGAs) were the next step from CPLDs. Instead of a fixed
array of gates, the FPGA uses the concept of a Complex Logic Block (CLB). This is
configurable and allows not only routing on the device, but also each logic block can be
configured optimally. A typical CLB is shown in Figure 2.3. This extreme flexibility is very
efficient as the device does not rely on the fixed logical resources (as in the case of a CPLD),
 An FPGA Primer 9

Clock

Figure 2.1
Typical programmable logic device.

but rather is able to define whichever logical functions are required as part of the logic block
reconfiguration.
The CLB has a look-up table (LUT) that can be configured to give a specific type of logic
function when programmed. There is also a clocked d-type flip flop that allows the CLB to be
combinatorial (non-clocked) or synchronous (clocked), and there is also an enable signal. A
typical commercial CLB (in this case from Xilinx® ) is shown in Figure 2.4 and this shows
clearly the two 4 input LUTs and various multiplexers and flip flops in a real device.
A typical FPGA will have hundreds or thousands of CLBs, of different types, on a single
device allowing very complex devices to be implemented on a single chip and configured
10 Chapter 2

Figure 2.2
Complex programmable logic device.

Inputs Look-up
Out
table
(LUT)

State
Clock

Enable

Figure 2.3
FPGA complex logic block.
 An FPGA Primer 11

C1-C4

G4 SR
control
G3 Logic Y2

G2 func
G1

Logic
func 1
Y
F4 SR
control
F3 Logic X2
F2 func
F1

Clock 1
X

Figure 2.4
Typical commercial CLB architecture.

Figure 2.5
FPGA structure of CLB.
12 Chapter 2

easily. Modern FPGAs have enough capacity to hold a number of complex processors on a
single device. The layout of a typical FPGA (in CLB terms) is shown in Figure 2.5. As can be
surmised from this schematic, the FPGA has a level of complexity possible that is orders of
magnitude more than typical CPLD devices. With the advent of modern digital CMOS
processes down to 45 nm or even 28 nm and beyond, the integration of millions of logical
elements is now possible and to a speed unimaginable a decade previously—making
extremely high-performance devices now possible (even into the realm of Gb/s data
rates).

2.5 FPGA Design Techniques

When we design using a hardware description language (HDL), these logical expressions and
functions need to be mapped onto the low level logic blocks on an FPGA. In order to do this,
we need to carry out three specific functions:
1. Mapping: Logic functions mapped onto CLBs.
2. Placement: CLBs placed on FPGA.
3. Routing: Routed connections between CLBs.
It is clearly becoming impossible to design “by hand” using today’s complex designs; we
therefore rely on synthesis software to turn our HDL design description into the logic
functions that can be mapped onto the FPGA CLBs. This design flow is an iterative process
including optimization and implies a complete design flow. This will be discussed later in this
book in much more detail. One of the obvious aspects of FPGA design that must be
considered, however, is that of the available resources.

2.6 Design Constraints using FPGAs

It can be very easy to produce unrealistic designs using an HDL if the target FPGA platform is
not considered carefully. FPGAs obviously have a limited number of logic blocks and routing
resources, and the designer has to consider this. The style of HDL code used by the designer
should make the best use of resources, and this book will give examples of how that can be
achieved. HDL code may be transferable between technologies, but may need rewriting for
best results due to these constraints. For example, assumptions about the availability of
resources may lead to a completely different style of design. An example would be a complex
function that needed to be carried out numerous times. If the constraint was the raw
performance, and the device was large enough, then simply duplicating that function in the
 An FPGA Primer 13

hardware would enable maximum data rates to be achieved. On the other hand, if the device is
very small and can only support a smaller number of functions, then it would be up to the
designer to consider pipelining or resource sharing to enable the device to be programmed, but
obviously this would be at the cost of raw performance. The constraints placed on the designer
by the FPGA platform itself can therefore be a significant issue in the choice of device or
development platform.

2.7 Development Kits and Boards

There are now a wide array of development kits to suit all levels of budget and performance
requirements from the manufacturers themselves, or from third-party companies specializing
in development kits and board design. With the FPGA manufacturers being proactive in
providing design software on the web (often for free for noncommercial purposes), it has
become much less of a hurdle for engineers to obtain access to both the design tools and the
hardware to test out their concepts.
One of the major advantages with the modern development boards is that they tend to have an
FPGA device that can generally handle almost all the major building blocks (processors,
display drivers, network stacks) even on a relatively low-end device. The beauty of the boards
too is that with the development of multiple layer PCB designs, most of the common interface
elements can also be integrated on a very small board. With both Xilinx and Altera supporting
credit card sized boards, these are well within the reach of students and engineers on a very
small budget. Mid-Range boards are also available for more lab based usage, such as the DE
series of boards from Terasic, based around the Altera FPGA devices, starting with the credit
card sized DE0-Nano, DE0 and continuing up in power and complexity. An excellent starter
board, for example, is the DE0 board, which is slightly larger than its DE0 successor, but
perhaps a little easier to use in terms of access to switches and plugs. This board has two
40-way GPIO (General Purpose Input Output) connectors for general interfacing, a VGA
output, PS/2 input, Ethernet, USB, SD Card socket and a selection of LEDs, switches, and
buttons. This board is shown in Figure 2.6. There is a series of boards available for the Xilinx
FPGAs, with similar ranges of options with an example being the Nexsys 3™ board from
Digilent® which has a similar range of IO capability to the Altera based boards. The Nexsys
3™ board is shown in Figure 2.7.
With such an extensive range of options and prices, it is now a matter of choice in many cases
which platform to use. Each one will have its strengths and weaknesses, and the designer is
able to select the device and board to develop their own design, taking into account their own
requirements and constraints.
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
shall have his thirty shillings in the pound. The noble Earl has been a
difficult fish to play, but I think I've landed him this time. Yes, my
boy, you'll be drawing your three hundred a year, and I my thirty
thousand, before midsummer; but I'll tell you all about it after
supper. Why, bless my soul, that's the supper you've got in your
hands, Ringrose! Take it from him, Fanny, and dish it up, for I'm as
hungry as a coach-load of hunters, and I've no doubt Ringrose is the
same."

And now Harry understood the trepidation with which Miss Lowndes
had consulted him as to whether they should wait supper for her
father, and her relief on hearing his opinion on the point: there had
been no supper in the house. Lowndes, however, had brought home
material for an excellent meal, of which caviare, a raised pie, French
rolls, camembert, peaches and a pine-apple, and a bottle of
Heidsieck, were conspicuous elements. Black coffee followed, rather
clumsily served by the man-servant, who waited in a dress suit some
sizes too small for him. And after supper Harry Ringrose at last
heard something definite concerning the Company from which he
was still assured that he might count on a certain income of three
hundred pounds a year.

"Last night my tongue was tied," said Lowndes; "but to-night the
matter is as good as settled; and I may now speak without
indiscretion. I must tell you first of all that the Company is entirely
my own idea—and a better one I never had in my life. It is founded
on the elementary principle that the average man gives more freely
to a good cause than to a bad one, but most freely to the good
cause out of which he's likely to get some change. He enjoys doing
good, but he enjoys it most when it pays him best, and there you
have the root of the whole matter. Only hit upon the scheme which
is both lucrative and meritorious, which gives the philanthropist the
consolation of reward, and the money-grubber the kudos of
philanthropy, and your fortune's made. You may spread the Gospel
or the Empire, and do yourself well out of either; but, for my part, I
wanted something nearer home—where charity begins, Ringrose—
and it took me years to hit upon the right thing. Ireland has been
my snare: to ameliorate the Irish peasant and the English
shareholder at the same swoop: it can't be done. I wasted whole
months over the Irish Peasants' Potato Produce Company, but it
wouldn't pan out. Nobody will put money into Ireland, and potatoes
are cheap already as the dirt they grow in. But I was working in the
right direction, and the crofter grievances came as a godsend to me
about a year ago. The very thing! I won't trouble you with the
intermediate stages; the Highland Crofters' Salmon and Trout Supply
Association, Limited, will be registered this week; and the greatest of
Scottish landlords, my good old Earl of Banff, is to be Chairman of
Directors and rope in all the rest."

Harry asked how it was to be made to pay. Lowndes had every detail
at his finger-ends, and sketched out an amazing programme with
bewildering volubility. The price of salmon would be reduced a
hundred per cent. The London shops would take none but the
Company's fish. Fresh trout would sell like herrings in the street, and
the Company would buy up the fishmongers' shops all over the
country, just as brewers bought up public-houses. As soon as
possible they would have their own line to the North, and expresses
full of nothing but fish would do the distance without stopping in
time hitherto unprecedented in railway annals.

"But," said Harry, "there are plenty of fish in the sea, and in other
places besides the Highlands."

"So there are, but in ten years' time we shall own every river in the
kingdom, and every cod-bank round the coast."

"And where will the crofters come in then?"

Lowndes roared with laughter.

"They won't come in at all. It will be forgotten that they ever were
in: the original Company will probably be incorporated with the
British Fresh Water and Deep Sea Fishing Company, Limited. Capital
ten millions. General Manager, Sir Gordon Lowndes, Bart., Park Lane,
W. Secretary, H. Ringrose, Esq., at the Company's Offices, Trafalgar
Square. We shall buy up the Grand Hotel and have them there. As
for the crofters, they'll be our Empire and our Gospel; we'll play
them for all they're worth in the first year or two, and then we'll let
them slide."

Miss Lowndes had been present all this time, and Harry had stolen
more than one anxious glance in her direction. She never put in a
word, nor could she be said to wear her thoughts upon her face, as
she bent it over some needlework in the corner where she sat. Yet it
was the daughter's silent presence which kept Harry himself proof
for once against the always contagious enthusiasm of the father. He
could not help coupling it with other silences of the early evening,
and the Highland Crofters' Salmon and Trout Supply Association,
Limited, left him as cold as he felt certain it left Miss Lowndes. It
was now after eleven, however, and he rose to bid her good-night,
while Lowndes went to get his hat in order to escort him to the
station.

"And I shall never forget our walk," added Harry, and unconsciously
wrung her hand as though it were that of some new-found friend of
his own sex.

"Then don't forget my advice," said Miss Lowndes, "but write—write

—write—and come and tell me how you get on!"

It was her last word to him, and for days to come it stimulated Harry
Ringrose, like many another remembered saying of this new friend,
whenever he thought of it. But at the time he was most struck by
her tacit dismissal of the more brilliant prospects which had been
discussed in her hearing.
"A fine creature, my daughter," said Lowndes, on the way to the
station. "She's one to stand by a fellow in the day of battle—she's as
staunch as steel."

"I can see it," Harry answered, with enthusiasm.

"Yes, yes; you have seen how it is with us, Ringrose. There's no use
making a secret of it with you, but I should be sorry for your mother
to know the hole we've been in, especially as we're practically out of
it. Yet you may tell her what you like; she may wonder Fanny has
never been to see her, but she wouldn't if she knew what a time the
poor girl has had of it! You've no conception what it has been,
Ringrose. I couldn't bear to speak of it if it wasn't all over but the
shouting. To-night there was oil in the lamps, but I shouldn't like to
tell you how many times we've gone to bed in the dark since they
stopped our gas. You may keep your end up in the City, because if
you don't you're done for, but it's the very devil at home. We drank
cold water with our breakfast this morning, and I can't conceive how
Fanny got in coals to make the coffee to-night."

Harry could have told him, but he held his tongue. He was trying to
reconcile the present tone of Lowndes, which had in it a strong dash
of remorse, with the countless extravagances he had already seen
him commit. Lowndes seemed to divine his thoughts.

"You may wonder," said he, "how I managed to raise wind enough
for the provender I had undertaken to bring home. I wonder if I
dare tell you? I called at your tailors' on my way to the noble Earl's,
and—and I struck them for a fiver! There, there, Ringrose, they'll get
it back next week. I've lived on odd fivers all this year, and I simply
didn't know where else to turn for one to-day. Yet they want me to
pay an income tax! I sent in my return the other day, and they sent
it back with 'unsatisfactory' written across my writing. So I sent it
back with 'I entirely agree with you' written across theirs, and that
seems to have shut them up. One of the most pestilent forms of
creditor is the tax gatherer, and the income tax is the most iniquitous
of all. Never you fill one in correctly, Ringrose, if you wish me to
remain your friend."

"But," said Harry, as they reached the station and were waiting for
the train, "you not only keep servants——"

"Servants?" cried Lowndes. "We have only one, and she's away at
the seaside. I send her there for a change whenever she gets
grumpy for want of wages. I tell her she looks seedy, and I give her
a sovereign to go. It has the air of something thrown in, and it
comes a good deal cheaper than paying them their wages, Ringrose.
I make you a present of the tip for what it's worth."

"But you have a man-servant, too?"

"A man-servant! My good fellow, that's no servant of mine. I only

make it worth his while to lend a hand."

"Who is he, then?"

"This is your train; jump in and I'll tell you."

The spectacled eyes were twinkling, and the sharp nose twitching,
when Harry leant out of the third-class carriage window.

"Well, who is it?"

"The old dodge, Ringrose, the old dodge."

"What's that?"

"The Man in Possession!"

And Gordon Lowndes was left roaring with laughter on the platform.
 CHAPTER IX.

THE CITY OF LONDON.

It was a considerably abridged version of his visit to Richmond which

Mrs. Ringrose received from her son. Gordon Lowndes had indeed
given Harry free leave to tell his mother what he liked, but not even
to her could the boy bring himself to repeat all that he had seen and
heard. He preferred to quote the frank admissions of Lowndes
himself, and that with reticence and a definite object. It was Harry's
ambition to remove his mother's bitterness against the young
woman who had never been to see her; and, by explaining the
matter as it had been explained to him, he easily succeeded, since
Mrs. Ringrose would have sympathised and sorrowed with her worst
enemy when that enemy was in distress. In uprooting one prejudice,
however, her son went near to planting another in its stead.

"I only hope, my boy, that you are not going to fall in love with her."

"Mother!"

"She seems to have made a deep impression on you."

"But not that sort of impression! She is a fine creature, I can see,
and we got on capitally together. We shall probably become the best
of friends. But you need have no fears on any other score. Why, she
must be ever so much older than I am."

"She is twenty-seven. He told me so."

"There you are! Twenty-seven!" cried Harry, triumphantly.

But it was not a triumph he enjoyed. Twenty-seven seemed a great

age to him, and six years an impassable gulf. Doubtless it was just
as well, especially when a person did not in the least resemble
another person's ideal; still, he had not supposed she was so old as
that. He wished he had not been told her age. Certainly it gave him
a sense of safety, just as he was beginning to wonder what the view
would be like from Richmond Hill to-day. But it was a little dull to
feel so safe as all that.

This was the day on which Harry Ringrose had intended to pack up
his African curios and send them off to Lowndes's office. But, after
the conversation of which the above was a snatch, his mother
charged him to do nothing of the kind. If Mr. Lowndes was in such
difficulties, it was certainly not their place to add to them by claiming
further favours at his hands. Harry agreed, but said the idea had
originated with Lowndes himself. His mother was firm on the point,
and counselled him either to sell his own wares or to listen to her
and give up the idea.

So Harry haunted the Kensington Public Library, and patiently waited

his turn for such journals as the Exchange and Mart. But it was in an
evening paper that he came across the advertisement which brought
the first grist to his mill. A lady in a suburb guaranteed good prices
for secondhand books, left-off jewellery, and all kinds of bric-á;-brac
and "articles of vertu," and inserted her advertisement in places as
original as itself. It caught Harry's eye more than once before the
idea occurred to him; but at length he made his way to that suburb
with a pair of ostrich eggs, an assegai, and a battle-axe studded
with brass-headed nails. He came back with a basket of
strawberries, a pot of cream, and several shillings in his pocket. Next
evening a post-office order to the amount of that first-class fare to
London was remitted to Gordon Lowndes, while a new silk hat hung
on the pegs, to give the boy a chance in the City. All that now
remained of the curios were one pair of ostrich eggs and a
particularly murderous tomahawk, with which Harry himself chopped
up the empty packing-cases to save in firewood.
So a few days passed, and the new clothes came home, and Harry
Ringrose was externally smart enough for the Stock Exchange itself,
before the first letter came from Uncle Spencer. He had spoken to
several of the business men among his congregation, but, he
regretted to say, with but little result so far. Not that this had
surprised him, as conscience had of course forbidden him to
represent his nephew as other than he was in respect of that
training and those qualifications in which Harry was so lamentably
deficient. He understood that for every vacant post there were some
hundreds of applicants, all of whom could write shorthand and keep
books, while the majority had taken the trouble to master at least
one foreign language. Harry had probably learned French at school,
but doubtless he had wasted his opportunities in that as in other
branches. Shorthand, however, appeared to be the most essential
requirement, and, as it was unfortunately omitted from the public-
school curriculum, Mr. Walthew was sending Harry a "Pitman's
Guide," in the earnest hope that he would immediately apply himself
to the mastery of this first step to employment and independence.
Meanwhile, one gentleman, whose name and address were given,
had said that he would be glad to see Henry if he cared to call, and
of course it was just possible that something might come of it. Henry
would naturally leave no stone unturned, and would call on this
gentleman without delay. Uncle Spencer, however, did not fail to add
that he was not himself sanguine of the result.

"He never is," said Harry. "What's the good of going?"

"You must do what your uncle says," replied Mrs. Ringrose, to whom
the letter had been written.

"But what's the good if he's given me away beforehand? He will

have told the fellow I can't even write an office fist, and am
generally no use, so why should he take me on? And if the fellow
isn't going to take me on, why on earth should I go and see him?"
Mrs. Ringrose pointed out that this was begging the question, and
reminded Harry that his Uncle Spencer took a pessimistic view of
everything. She herself then went to the opposite extreme.

"I think it an excellent sign that he should want to see you at all,
and I feel sure that when he does see you he will want to snap you
up. What a good thing you have your new clothes to go in! Your
uncle doesn't say what the business is, but I am quite convinced it
has something to do with Africa, and that your experience out there
is the very thing they want. So be sure that you agree to nothing
until we have talked it over."

Harry spent a few minutes in somewhat pusillanimous contemplation

of the Pitman hieroglyphs, wondering if he should ever master them,
and whether it would help him so very much if he did. It was not
that he was afraid of work, for he only asked to be put into harness
at once and driven as hard as they pleased. But it was a different
matter to be told first to break oneself in; and to begin instantly and
in earnest and alone required a higher order of moral courage than
Harry could command just then.

But he went into the City that same forenoon, and he saw the
gentleman referred to in his uncle's letter. The interview was not
more humiliating than many another to which Harry submitted at the
same bidding; but it was the first, and it hurt most at the time. No
sooner had it begun than Harry realised that he had no clue as to
the relations subsisting between Mr. Walthew and the man of
business, nor yet as to what had passed between them on the
subject of himself, and he saw too late that he had allowed himself
to be placed in a thoroughly false position. It looked, however, as
though the clergyman had been less frank than he professed, for
Harry was put through a second examination, and his admissions
received with the most painful tokens of surprise. He was even
asked for a specimen of his handwriting, which self-consciousness
made less legible than ever; in the end his name was taken, "in case
we should hear of anything," and he was bowed out with broken
words of gratitude on his lips and bitter curses in his heart.

He went home vowing that he never would submit to that indignity

again: yet again and again he did.

Mr. Walthew was informed of the result of the interview which he

had instigated, and wrote back to say how little it surprised him. But
he mentioned another name and another address, and, in short,
sent his nephew hat-in-hand to some half-dozen of his friends and
acquaintances, none of whom showed even a momentary inclination
to give the lad a trial. Harry did not blame them, but he did blame
his uncle for making him a suppliant in one unlikely quarter after
another. Yet he never refused to go when it came to the point; for,
though a week slipped by without his learning to write a line of
shorthand, Harry Ringrose had character enough not to neglect a
chance—no matter how slight—for fear of a rebuff—no matter how
brutal.

Yet he never forgot the exquisite misery of those unwarrantable

begging interviews: the excitement of seeking for the office in the
swarming, heated labyrinth of the City—the depression of the long
walk home with another blank drawn from the bag. How he used to
envy the smart youths in the short black jackets and the shiny hats
—all doing something—all earning something! And how stolidly he
looked the other way when in one or two of those youths he
recognised a schoolfellow. How could he face anybody he had ever
known before?—an idler, a pauper, and disgraced. They would only
cut him as he had been cut that first morning on his way to the old
home; therefore he cut them.

But one day he was forced to break this sullen rule: his arm was
grabbed by the man he had all but passed, and a sallow London face
compelled his recognition.
"You're a nice one, Ringrose!" said a voice with the London twang.
"Is it so many years since you shared a cabin on a ship called the
Sobraon, with a chap of the name of Barker?"
"I'm awfully sorry," cried Harry with a blush. "You—I wasn't looking
for any one I knew. How are you, Barker?"

"Oh, as well as a Johnny can be in this hole of a City. Thinking of

knocking up again and getting the gov'nor to send me another long
voyage. I'm not a man of leisure like you, Ringrose. What brings you
here?"

"Oh, I've only been to see a man," said Harry, without technical
untruth.

"I pictured you loafin' about that rippin' old place in the photos you
used to have up in our cabin. Not gone to Oxford yet, then?"

"No—the term doesn't begin till October. But——" Harry tried to tell
the truth here, but the words choked him, and the moment passed.

"Not till October! Four clear months! What a chap you are, Ringrose;
it makes me want to do you an injury, upon my Sam it does. Look at
me! At it from the blessed week after I landed—at it from half-past
nine to six, and all for a measly thirty-five bob a week. How would
you like that, eh? How would you like that?"

Harry's mouth watered, but he said he didn't know, and contrived to

force another smile as he held out a trembling hand.

"Got to be going, have you?" said the City youth. "I thought you
bloated Johnnies were never in a hurry? Well, well, give a poor devil
a thought sometimes, cooped up at a desk all day long. Good-bye—
you lucky dog!"

The tears were in Harry's eyes as he went his way, yet the smile was
still upon his lips, and it was grimly genuine now. If only the envious
Barker knew where the envy really lay! How was it he did not? To
the conscious wretch it was a revelation that all the world was not
conversant with his disappointment and his disgrace.

To think that he had talked of going up to Oxford next term! It had

never been quite decided, and he blushed to think how he must
have spoken of it at sea. Still more was he ashamed of his want of
common pluck in pretending for a moment that he was going up
still.

"'Pluck lost, all lost,'" he thought, remorsefully; "and I've lost it

already! Oh, what would Innes think of me, for carrying his motto in
my heart when I don't need it, and never acting on it when I do!"

That night he wrote it out on the back of a visiting card, and tacked
the tiny text to the wall above his bed:—

"MONEY LOST—LITTLE LOST

HONOUR LOST—MUCH LOST
PLUCK LOST—ALL LOST."

And his old master's motto sent Harry Ringrose with a stout heart on
many another errand to the City, and steeled and strengthened him
when he came home hopeless in the evening. Yet it was very, very
hard to live up to; and many also were the unworthy reactions which
afflicted him in those dark summer days, that he had expected to be
so free from care, and so full of happiness.

One afternoon he crept down from a stockbroker's office, feeling

smaller than ever (for that stockbroker had made the shortest work
yet of him), to see a man selling halfpenny papers over a placard
that proclaimed "extraordinary scoring at Lord's." A spirit of
recklessness came over Harry, and buying a paper was but the thin
end of his extravagance. A minute later he had counted his money
and found enough to take him to St. John's Wood and into the
ground; and it was still the money that he had obtained for his
curios; and town was intolerable with that sinister London heat
which none feel more than your seasoned salamander from the
tropics. Harry's new clothes were sticking to him, and he thought
how delicious it would be at Lord's. To think was to argue. What was
sixpence after all? He had had no lunch, and that would have cost
him sixpence more or less; he would do without any lunch, and go
to Lord's instead.

It was delicious there, and Harry was so lucky as to squeeze into a

seat. Quite a breeze, undreamt of in the City, blew across the
ground, blowing the flannels of the players against their bodies and
fetching little puffs of dust from the pitch. The wicket was crumbling,
the long scores of the morning were at an end. It was only the tail
of the Middlesex team that Harry was in time to see batting, but
they were good enough for him. All his life he had nourished a
hopeless passion for the game, and every care was forgotten until
the last man was out.

"Why—Harry?"

He had been looking at the pitch, and he spun round like an arrested
criminal. Yet the strong hand on his shoulder was also delicate and
full of kindness, and he was gazing into the best face he had ever
seen. His ideal woman he was still to find, but his ideal man he had
loved and worshipped from his twelfth year; and here he stood,
supple and athletic as ever, only slimmer and graver; and their hands
were locked.

"Mr. Innes!"

"I had no idea you were in England, Harry."

"I have been back three weeks."

"Why didn't you write?"

He knew everything. Harry saw it in the kind, strong face, and heard
it in a voice rich with sympathy and reproach.

"I was too ashamed," he murmured—and he hung his head.

"You might have trusted me, old fellow," said Mr. Innes. "Come and
sit on top of the pavilion and tell me all about yourself."

At any other time it would have been a sufficient joy to Harry

Ringrose to set foot in that classic temple of the sacred game; now
he had eyes for nothing and nobody but the man who led him up
the steps, through the cricketing throng, up the stairs. And when
they sat together on top, and the ground was cleared, and play
resumed, not another ball did Harry watch with intelligent eyes. He
was sitting with the man to whom he had been too proud to write,
but whose disciple he had been at heart for many a year. He was
talking to the object of his early hero-worship, and he found him his
hero still.

Mr. Innes listened attentively, gravely, but said very little himself. He
appreciated the difficulty of starting in life without money or
influence, and was too true a friend to make light of it. He thought
that business would be best if only an opening could be found.
Schoolmastering led to nothing unless one had money or a degree.
Still they must think and talk it over, and Harry must come down to
Guildford and see the new chapel and the swimming-bath. Could he
come for a day or two before the end of the term? Was he sure he
could leave his mother? Harry was quite sure, but would write when
he got home.

Then it was time for Mr. Innes to go, but first he gave Harry tea in
the members' dining-room, and after that a lift in his hansom as far
as Piccadilly. So that Harry reached home both earlier and in better
case than he might have done; whereupon Mrs. Ringrose, hearing
his key in the latch, came out to meet him with a face of mystery
which contrasted oddly with his radiance.
"Oh, mother," he cried, "whom do you think I've seen! Innes! Innes!
and he's the same as ever, and wants me to go and stay with him,
so you were right, and I was wrong! What is it then? Who's here?"
His voice sank in obedience to her gestures.

"Your Uncle Spencer," she whispered, tragically.

"Delighted to see him," cried Harry, who had been made much too
happy by one man to be readily depressed by any other.

"He has been waiting to see you since five o'clock, my boy."

"Has he? Very sorry to hear that, uncle," said Harry, bursting into the
sitting-room and greeting the clergyman with the heartiness he was
feeling for all the world. Mr. Walthew looked at his watch.

"Since a quarter before five, Mary," said he, "and now it wants seven
minutes to six. Not that I shall grudge the delay if it be attributable
to the only cause I can imagine to account for it. The circumstances,
Henry, are hardly those which warrant levity; if you have indeed
been successful at last, as I hope to hear——"

"Successful, uncle?"

"I understand that you have been to see the gentleman on the Stock
Exchange, who was kind enough to say that he would see you, and
of whom I wrote to you yesterday?"

"So I have! I had quite forgotten that."

"Forgotten it?" cried Mr. Walthew.

"I beg your pardon, Uncle Spencer," said Harry, respectfully enough;
"but since I saw your friend I have been with Mr. Innes my old
schoolmaster, the best man in the whole world, and I am afraid it
has put the other interview right out of my head."

"He did give you an interview, however?"

"Yes, for about a minute."

"And nothing came of it, as usual?" sneered the clergyman.

"And nothing came of it—as usual—I am very sorry to say, Uncle

Spencer."

"And what time was this?"

"Between two and three."

"You must excuse me, Henry, but I am doing my best to obtain

employment for you—I cannot say I have much hope now—still, I
am doing my best, and I am naturally interested in the use you
make of your time. May I ask—as I think I have a right to ask—
where you have spent the afternoon?"

"Certainly, Uncle Spencer; at Lord's Cricket-ground."

Harry was well aware that he had delivered a bombshell, and he

quite expected to receive a broadside in return. But he had forgotten
Uncle Spencer's mode of expressing superlative displeasure. It has
been said that Mr. Walthew never smiled, but there were occasions
when a weird grin shed a sort of storm-light on his habitual gloom.
That was when indignation baffled invective, and righteous anger fell
back on holy scorn. The present was an occasion in point.

Mr. Walthew stared at Harry without a word, but gradually this

unlovely look broke out upon him, and at last he positively chuckled
in his beard.

"You are out of work, and too incompetent to obtain any," said he,
"and yet you can waste your own time and your mother's money in
watching a cricket-match!"

"I went without my lunch in order to do so," was Harry's defence.

"And besides, it was my money—I got it for my spears and things."
"And you call that your money?" cried Uncle Spencer. "I would not
talk about my money until I was paying for my board and residence
under this roof!"

"Now, that will do!" cried Mrs. Ringrose. "That is my business,

Spencer, and I will not allow you to speak so to my boy."

"Come, come, mother," Harry interrupted, "my uncle is quite right

from his point of view. I admit I had qualms about going to Lord's
myself. But I think I must have been meant to go—I know there was
some meaning in my meeting Innes."

"If anything could surprise me in you, Henry," resumed Mr. Walthew,

"it would be the Pagan sentiments which you have just pained me by
uttering. May you live to pray forgiveness for your heresy, as also for
your extravagance! But of the latter I will say no more, though I
certainly think, Mary, that where my assistance has been invoked I
have a right to speak my mind. The waste of money is, however,
even less flagrant, in my opinion, than the waste of time. It is now
several days, Henry, since I sent you a guide to shorthand. An
energetic and conscientious fellow, as anxious as you say you are to
work for his daily bread, could have mastered at least the rudiments
in the time. Have you?"

"I told you he had not!" cried Mrs. Ringrose. "How can you expect it,
when every day he has been seeking work in the City? And he
comes in so tired!"

"Not too tired to go to Lord's Cricket-ground, however," was the not

unjust rejoinder. "But perhaps his energy has found another outlet?
Last time I was here he was going to write articles and poems for
the magazines—so I understood. How many have you written,
Henry?"

Harry scorned to point out that it was his mother's words which
were being quoted against him, not his own; yet ever since his
evening at Richmond he had been meaning to try his hand at
something, and he felt guilty as he now confessed that he had not
written a line.

"I was sure of it!" cried the clergyman. "You talk of getting
employment, but you will not take the trouble to qualify yourself for
the humblest post; you talk of writing, but you will not take the
trouble even to write! Not that I suppose for a moment anything
would come of it if you did! The magazines, Henry, do not open their
columns to young fellows without literary training, any more than
houses of business engage clerks without commercial education or
knowledge. Yet it would be something even if you tried to write! It
would be something if you wrote—as probably you would write—for
the waste-paper basket and the dust-bin. But no, you seem to have
no application, no energy, no sense of duty; and what more I can do
for you I fail to see. I have written several letters on your account; I
have risked offending several friends. Nothing has come of it, and
nothing is likely to come of it until you put your own shoulder to the
wheel. I have put mine. I have done my best. My conscience is an
easy one, at any rate."

Mr. Walthew caught up his hat and brought these painful

proceedings to a close by rising abruptly, as though his feelings were
too much for him. Mrs. Ringrose took his hand without a word, and
without a word Harry showed him out.

"So his conscience is easy!" cried the boy, bitterly. "He talks as if that
had been his object—to ease his conscience—not to get me work.
He has sent me round the City like a beggar, and he calls that doing
his best! I had a good mind to tell him what I call it."

"I almost wish you had," said Mrs. Ringrose, shedding tears.

"No, mother, there was too much truth in what he says. I have been
indolent. Nevertheless, I believe Innes will get me something to do.
And meanwhile I intend to have my revenge on Uncle Spencer."
"How, my boy?"

Harry had never looked so dogged.

"By getting something into a magazine within a week."

 CHAPTER X.

A FIRST OFFENCE.

When Harry Ringrose vowed that he would get something into a

magazine within a week, he simply meant that he would write
something and get it taken by some editor. But even so he had no
conception of the odds against him. Few beginners can turn out
acceptable matter at a day's notice, and fewer editors accept within
the week. Fortune, however, often favours the fool who rushes in.

Harry began wisely by deciding to make his first offering poetical, for
verses of kinds he had written for years, and besides, they would
come quicker if they came at all. Undoubted indolence is also
discernible in this choice, but on the whole it was the sound one,
and that very evening saw Harry set to work in a spirit worthy of a
much older literary hand.

He found among the books the selected poems of Shelley which he

had brought home some mid-summers before as a prize for his
English examination. His own language was indeed the only one for
which poor Harry had shown much aptitude, though for a youth who
had scribbled for his school magazine, and formed the habit of
shedding verses in his thirteenth year, he was wofully ill-read even in
that. Let it be confessed that he took down his Shelley with the
cynical and shameless intention of seeking what he might imitate in
those immortal pages. The redeeming fact remains that he read in
them for hours without once recalling his impious and immoral
scheme.

It was years since he had dipped into the book, and its contents
caused him naive astonishment. He had read a little poetry in his
desultory way. Tennyson he loved, and Byron he had imitated at
school But in all his adventurings on the Ægean seas of song, he
had never chanced upon such a cluster of golden islets as the lyrics
in this selection. The epic mainland had always less attraction for
him. He found it demand a concentrative effort, and Harry was very
sorry and even ashamed, but he loved least to read that way. So he
left "Alastor" and "The Witch of Atlas" untouched and untried, and
spent half the night in ecstasies over such discoveries as the "Indian
Serenade" and "Love's Philosophy." These were the things for him;
the things that could be written out on half a sheet of notepaper or
learnt in five minutes; the things he loved to read, and would have
died to write.

He forgot his proposed revenge; he forgot his uttered vow. He forgot

the sinister design with which he had taken up his Shelley, and it
was pure love of the lines that left him, when he had blown out his
candle, saying his last-learnt over to himself:

"Rarely, rarely, comest thou,

Spirit of Delight!
Wherefore hast thou left me now
Many a day and night?
Many a weary night and day
'Tis since thou art fled away.

How shall ever one like me

Win thee back again?
With the joyous and the free
Thou wilt scoff at pain.
Spirit false! thou hast forgot
All but those who need thee not.

As a lizard with the shade

Of a trembling leaf,
Thou with sorrow art dismayed——"
Here he stuck fast and presently fell asleep, to think no more of it till
he was getting up next morning. He was invaded with a dim
recollection of this poem while the water was running into his bath.
As he took his plunge, the lines sprang out clear as sunshine after
rain, and the man in the bath made a discovery.

They were not Shelley's lines at all. They were his own.

At breakfast he was distraught. Mrs. Ringrose complained. Harry

pulled out an envelope, made a note first, and then his apology. Mrs.
Ringrose returned as usual to her room, but Harry did not follow her
with his pipe. He went to his own room instead, and sat down on
the unmade bed, with a pencil, a bit of paper, and a frightful furrow
between his downcast eyes. In less than half-an-hour, however, the
thing was done: a highly imitative effort in the manner of those
verses which he had been saying to himself last thing the night
before.

The matter was slightly different: the subject was dreams, not
delight, and instead of "Spirit of Delight," the dreams were
apostrophised as "Spirits of the Night." Then the form of the stanza
was freshened up a little: the new poet added a seventh line,
rhyming with the second and fourth, while the last word of the fifth
was common to all the stanzas, and necessitated a new and original
double-rhyme in the sixth line of each verse. Harry found a rhyming
dictionary (purchased in his school-days for the benefit of the school
magazine) very handy in this connection. It was thus he made such
short work of his rough draft. But the fair copy was turned out (in
the sitting-room) in even quicker time, and a somewhat indiscreet
note written to the Editor of Uncle Tom's Magazine, though not on
the lines which Mrs. Ringrose had once suggested. A "stamped
directed envelope" was also prepared, and enclosed in compliance
with Uncle Tom's very explicit "Notice to Contributors." Then Harry
stole down and out, and posted his missive with a kind of guilty
pride: after all, the deed itself had been a good deal less cold-
blooded than the original intention.

Mrs. Ringrose knew nothing. She had seen Harry scribble on an

envelope, and that was all. She knew how the boy blew hot and
cold, and she did him the injustice of concluding he had renounced
his vow, but the kindness of never voicing her conclusion. Yet his
restless idleness, and a something secretive in his manner, troubled
her greatly during the next few days, and never more than on the
Saturday morning, when Harry came in late for breakfast and there
was a letter lying on his plate.

"You seem to have been writing to yourself," said Mrs. Ringrose, as

she looked suspiciously from Harry to the letter.

"To myself?" he echoed, and without kissing her he squeezed round

the table to his place.

"Yes; that's your writing, isn't it? And it looks like one of my
envelopes!"

It was both. Harry stood gazing at his own superscription, and

weighing the envelope with his eye. He was afraid to feel it. It
looked too thin to contain his verses. It was too thin! Between finger
and thumb it felt absolutely empty. He tore it open, and read on a
printed slip the sweetest words his eyes had ever seen.

"The Editor of Uncle Tom's Magazine has great pleasure in accepting

for publication——"

The title of the verses (a very bad one) was filled in below, the date
below that, and that was all.

"Oh, mother, they've accepted my verses!"

"Who?"

"Uncle Tom's Magazine."

"Did you actually send some verses to Uncle Tom?"

"Yes, on Tuesday, the day after Uncle Spencer was here. I've done
what I said I'd do. He'll see I'm not such an utter waster after all."

"And you—never—told—me!"

His mother's eyes were swimming. He kissed them dry, and began to
make light of his achievement.

"Mother, I couldn't. I didn't know what you would think of them. I

didn't think much of them myself, nor do I now. The verses in Uncle
Tom are not much. And then—I thought it would be a surprise."
"Well, it wouldn't have been one if I had known you had sent them,"
said Mrs. Ringrose; and now she was herself again. "I only hope, my
boy," she added, "that they will pay you something."

"Of course they will. Uncle Tom must have an excellent circulation."

"Then I hope they'll pay you something handsome. Did you tell the
Editor how long we have taken him in?"

"Mother!"

"Then I've a great mind to write and tell him myself. I am sure it
would make a difference."

"Yes; it would make the difference of my getting the verses back by

return of post," said Harry, grimly.

Mrs. Ringrose looked hurt, but gave way on the point, and bade him
go on with his breakfast. Harry did so with the Uncle Tom
acceptance spread out and stuck up against the marmalade dish,
and one eye was on it all the time. Afterwards he went to his room
and read over the rough draft of his verses, which he had not looked
at since he sent them away. He could not help thinking a little more
of them than he had thought then. He wondered how they would
look in print, and referred to one of the bound Uncle Toms to see.

"Well, have you brought them?" said Mrs. Ringrose when he could
keep away from her no longer.

"The verses? No, dear, I have only a very rough draft of them, which
you couldn't possibly read; and I could never read them to you—I
really couldn't."

"Not to your own mother?"

He shook his head. He was also blushing; and his diffidence in the
matter was not the less genuine because he was swelling all the
time with private pride. Mrs. Ringrose did not press the point. The
pecuniary side of the affair continued to interest her very much.

"Do you think fifty?" she said at length, with considerable obscurity;
but her son knew what she was talking about.

"Fifty what?"

"Pounds!"

"For my poor little verses? You little know their length! They are only
forty-two lines in all."

"Well, what of that? I am sure I have heard of such sums being

given for a short poem."

"Well, they wouldn't give it for mine. Fifty shillings, more like."

"No, no. Say twenty pounds. They could never give you less."

Harry shook his head and smiled.

"A five-pound note, at the very outside," said he, oracularly. "But
whatever it is, it'll be one in the eye for the other uncle! Upon my
word, I think we must go to his church to-morrow evening."
"It will mean going in to supper afterwards, and you know you didn't
like it last time."

"I can lump it for the sake of scoring off Uncle Spencer!"

But that was more easily said than done, especially, so to speak, on
the "home ground," where a small but exclusively feminine and
entirely spiritless family sang a chorus of meek approval to the
reverend gentleman's every utterance. When, therefore, Mr. Walthew
added to his melancholy congratulations a solemn disparagement of
all the lighter magazines (which he boasted were never to be seen in
his house), the echo from those timid throats was more galling than
the speech itself. But when poor Mrs. Ringrose ventured only to hint
at her innocent expectations as to the honorarium, and her brother
actually laughed outright, and his family made equally merry, then
indeed was Harry punished for the ignoble motives with which he
had attended his uncle's church.

"My good boy," cried Uncle Spencer, with extraordinary geniality,

"you will be lucky if you get a sixpence! I say again that I
congratulate you on the prospect of getting into print at all. I say
again that even that is not less a pleasure than a surprise to me. But
I would not delude myself with pecuniary visions until I could write
serious articles for the high-class magazines!"

Between his mother's presentiments and his uncle's

prognostications, the contributor himself endeavoured to strike a
happy medium; but even he was disappointed when an afternoon
post brought a proof of the verses, together with a postal order for
ten-and-sixpence. Harry showed it to his mother without a word,
and for the moment they both looked glum. Then the boy burst out
laughing, and the lady followed suit.

"And I had visions of a fiver," said Harry.

"Nay, but I was the worst," said his mother, who was laughing and
crying at the same time. "I said twenty!"

"It only shows how much the public know about such things. Ten-
and-six!"

"Well, my boy, that's better than what your uncle said. How long did
it take you to write?"

"Oh, not more than half an hour. If it comes to that, the money was
quickly earned."

For a minute and more Mrs. Ringrose gazed steadily at an upper

sash, which was one's only chance of seeing the sky through the
windows of the flat. Her lips were tightly pursed; they always were
when she was in the toils of a calculation.

"A thousand a year!" she exclaimed at length.

"What do you mean, mother?"

"Well, if this poem only took you half an hour, you might easily turn
out half a dozen a day. That would be three guineas. Three guineas
a day would come to over a thousand a year."

Harry laughed and kissed her.

"I'll see what I can do," he said; "but I'm very much afraid half a
dozen a week will be more than I can manage. Three guineas a
week would be splendid. I shouldn't have to go round begging for
work any more; they would never give me half as much in an office.
Heigho! Here are the verses for you to read."

He put on his hat, and went into the High Street to cash his order. It
was the first money his pen had ever earned him in the open
market, and, since the sum seemed to Harry too small to make
much difference, he determined to lay out the whole of it in festive
and appropriate, if unjustifiable fashion. The High Street shops met
all his wants. At one he bought a ninepenny tin of mulligatawny, and
a five-and-ninepenny bottle of Perrier Jouet; at another, some oyster
patties and meringues and half a pound of pressed beef (cut in
slices), which came to half-a-crown between them. The remaining
shilling he spent on strawberries and the odd sixpence on cream. He
would have nothing sent, so we may picture a triumphant, but
rather laborious return to the flat.

He found his mother in tears over the proofs of his first verses; she
shed more when he showed her how he had spent his first
honorarium. Yet she was delighted; there had been very little in the
house, but now they would be able to do without the porter's wife to
cook, and would be all by themselves for their little treat. No one
enjoyed what she loved to call a "treat" more than Mrs. Ringrose;
and perhaps even in the best of days she had never had a greater
one than that now given her by her extravagant son. It was
unexpected, and, indeed, unpremeditated; it had all the elements of
success; and for one short evening it made Harry's mother almost
forget that she was also the wife of a fraudulent and missing
bankrupt.

Harry, too, was happier than he had been for many a day. In the
course of the evening he stole innumerable glances at his proof,
wondering what this friend or that would think of the verses when
they came out in Uncle Tom. Once it was through Lowndes's
spectacles that he tried to look at them, more than once from Mr.
Innes's point of view, but most often with the sterling grey eyes of
the girl on Richmond Hill, who had so earnestly begged him to write.
He had heard nothing of her from that evening to this; her father
had not mentioned her in the one letter Harry had received from
him, and neither of them had been near the flat. But he believed
that Fanny Lowndes would like the verses; he knew that she would
encourage him to go on.
And go on he did, with feverish energy, for the next few days. But
the good luck did not repeat itself too soon; for though the first
taste of printer's ink gave the lad energy, so that within a week he
had showered verses upon half the magazines in London, all those
verses returned like the dove to the ark, because it did not also bring
him good ideas, and his first success had spoilt him a little by costing
no effort. Even Uncle Tom would have no more of him; and the
unhappy Harry began to look upon his imitation of Shelley as the
mere fluke it seemed to have been.
 CHAPTER XI.

BEGGAR AND CHOOSER.

The one communication which Harry Ringrose had received from

Gordon Lowndes was little more than a humorous acknowledgment
of the sum refunded to him after the sale of the trophies. The writer
warmly protested against the payment of a debt which he himself
had never regarded in that light. The worst of it was that he was not
in a position to refuse such payment. The prospects of the Highland
Crofters' Salmon and Trout Supply Association, Limited, were if
anything rosier than ever. But it was an axiom that the more gigantic
the concern, the longer and more irritating the initial delay, and no
news of the Company would be good news for some time to come.

"Meanwhile I am here every day of my life," concluded Lowndes,

"and pretty nearly all day. Why the devil don't you look me up?"

Indeed, Harry might have done so on any or all of those dreadful

days which took him a beggar to the City of London. His reason for
not doing so was, however, a very simple one. He did not want
Lowndes to think that he disbelieved in the H.C.S. & T.S.A., as he
must if he knew that Harry was assiduously seeking work elsewhere.
Harry was not altogether sure that he did utterly disbelieve in that
colossal project. But it was difficult to put much confidence in it after
the revelations at Richmond, and when it was obvious that the
promoter's own daughter lacked confidence in his schemes. Certainly
it was impossible to feel faith enough in the Highland Crofters' to
leave lesser stones unturned. And yet to let Lowndes know what he
was doing might be to throw away three hundred a year.

So Harry had avoided Leadenhall Street on days when the company-

promoter's boisterous spirits and exuberant good-humour would
have been particularly grateful to him. But this was before he
became a successful literary man. He wanted Lowndes to hear of his
success; he particularly wanted him to tell his daughter. He was not
sure that he should avoid Leadenhall Street another time, nor did he
when it came.

This was after the successful effort had realised only half-a-guinea,
and when some subsequent attempt was coming back in disgrace by
every post. Mrs. Ringrose had taken a leaf out of Harry's book, and
committed a letter to the post without even letting him know that
she had written one. An answer came by return, and this she
showed to Harry in considerable trepidation. It was from the solicitor
whom she had mentioned on the day after Harry's arrival. In it Mr.
Wintour Phipps presented his compliments to Mrs. Ringrose, and
stated that he would be pleased to see her son any afternoon
between three and four o'clock.

"I thought old friends were barred?" Harry said, reproachfully. "I
thought we were agreed about that, mother?"

"But this is not an old friend of yours or mine, my dear. I never knew
him; I only know what your father did for him. He paid eighty
pounds for his stamps, so I think he might do something for you!
And so does he, you may depend, or he would not write that you
are to go and see him."

"He doesn't insist upon it," said Harry, glancing again at the
solicitor's reply. "He puts it pretty formally, too!"

"Have I not told you that I never met him? It was your father and
his father who were such old friends."

"So he writes to you through a clerk!"

"How do you know?"

"It's the very hand they all tell me I ought to cultivate."

"I have no doubt he is a very busy man. I have often heard your
father say so. Yet he can spare time to see you! You will go to him,
my boy—to please your mother?"

"I will think about it, dear."

The mid-day post brought back another set of rejected verses. Harry
swallowed his pride.

"It's all right, mother; I'll go and see that fellow this afternoon."

And there followed the last of the begging interviews, which in

character and result had little to differentiate it from all the rest.
Harry did indeed feel less compunction in bearding his father's god-
son than in asking favours of complete strangers. He also fancied
that he was better fitted for the law than for business, and, when he
came to Bedford Row, he could picture himself going there quite
happily every day. The knowledge, too, that this Wintour Phipps was
under obligations to his father, sent the young fellow up a pair of
dingy stairs with a confidence which had not attended him on any
former errand of the kind. And yet in less than ten minutes he was
coming down again, with his beating heart turned to lead, but with a
livelier contempt for his own innocence than for the hardness of the
world as most lately exemplified by Wintour Phipps. Nor would the
last of these interviews be worth mentioning but for what followed;
for it was on this occasion that Harry went on to Leadenhall Street to
get what comfort he could from the one kind heart he knew of in the
City of London.

But there an unexpected difficulty awaited him. He remembered the

number, but he looked in vain for the name of Gordon Lowndes
among the others that were painted on the passage wall as you
went in. So he doubted his memory and tried other numbers; but
results brought him back to the first, and he climbed upstairs in
quest of the name that was not in the hall. He never found it; but as
he reached the fourth landing a peal of unmistakable laughter came
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