4 Books by Coningsby Dawson. Coningsby Dawson

or whether the fault was theirs in mistaking the place of rendezvous. Here and there through the crowd worried and assertive literary individuals wandered, searching for invariably unpunctual publishers. As though Time pressed behind them with his scythe, hatchet-faced journalists from Fleet Street were making a bee-line for the restaurant. In contrast to this perfervid haste, self-possessed young queens of the footlights lolled with their admirers, importantly believing they were recognized. All the medley of London as it used to be, is and will be again, was there; but nowhere could Tabs descry a General's uniform.

      He went to the desk to enquire whether there was any message for him. At mention of the General his enquiry was received with marked respect. Yes, General Braithwaite lived there. No message had been left, but he might be in his room. While they were telephoning and he was waiting, Tabs remembered and smiled at remembering. Under quite other circumstances, on a former occasion, he and Braithwaite had stayed there together. The clerk interrupted his reflections. "The General's not in his room---- Ah, here he comes, your Lordship."

      Tabs turned quickly and looked in vain at first. He did not become aware of his host till he was standing almost at his elbow. Then he held out his hand, "How are you, General? You must pardon me for not having picked you out at once. Like all of us, you look different in mufti."

      "More like the old Braithwaite your Lordship used to know?" The General smiled. "Well, I have to thank that experience for this at least--that I know where to find the proper tailors. How about lunch? Are you ready?"

      Against a window looking out on the Embankment, one of the best tables had been reserved--a further proof of the new esteem in which Braithwaite was held. The head-waiter hurried up immediately to advise what he should eat and passed on his orders to subordinates with as much solemnity as if they had been the details for an offensive. "Yes, my General." "No, my General." When everything had been chosen and there was nothing to do but wait for the first dish to be served, Braithwaite leaned across to Tabs, "Your Lordship is amused. I don't blame you."

      Tabs drew out his case and offered him a cigarette. "I'll make a bargain with you, sir. Let's cut out the unfriendly formalities. I'll call you Braithwaite if you'll call me Taborley."