 CHAPTER XI. CLARANCE. The brilliantly lighted auditorium of the palace theatre. Everywhere a murmur and stir. The orchestra is playing a selection. In the stalls, fair women and brave men converse in excited whispers. One catches sentences here and there. Quite a boy, I believe. How perfectly sweet! Pond honour, Lady Gussie! I couldn't say. Bertie Burtison of the Bachelor says a fellow told him it was a clear thousand. Did you hear that? Mr. Burtison says that this boy is getting a thousand a week. Why, that's more than either of those horrid generals got. It's a lot of money, isn't it? Of course, he did save the country, didn't he? You may depend they wouldn't give it him if he wasn't worth it. Met him last night at the duchess's hop. Seems a decent little chap. No side in that, if you know what I mean. Hello, there's his number. The orchestra stops. The number seven is displayed. A burst of applause swelling into a roar as the curtain rises. A stout man in crinkled evening dress walks on to the stage. Ladies and gentlemen, he says, I have the honour tonight to introduce to you one whose name is, as the saying goes, an outsold word. It is thanks to him, to the zero whom I have the honour to introduce to you tonight, that our beloved England no longer writhes beneath the ruthless eel of the alien oppressor. It was this hero's genius, and I may say, or I may say genius, that unaided it upon the only way for removing the cruel conqueror from our beloved arth sonoms. It was this hero who having first allowed the invaders to claw each other to ash, if I may be permitted the expression. After the well-known precedent of the kill-kenny cats, thereupon firmly and without flinching, stepped bravely in with his fellow heroes, need I say, I allude to our gallant boy scouts, and dexterously gave what for in no uncertain manner to the few survivors who remained. Here the orator bowed, and took advantage of the applause to replenish his stock of breath. When his face had begun to lose the purple tinge, he raised his hand. I have only to add, he resumed, that this hero is engaged exclusively by the management of the palace theatre of varieties at a figure previously undreamt of in the annals of the music hall stage. He is in receipt of the magnificent weekly salary of no less than one thousand one hundred and fifty pounds a week. Thunderous applause. I have little more to add. This hero will first perform a few of those physical exercises which have made our boy scouts what they are, such as deep breathing, twisting the right leg firmly around the neck and hopping on one foot across the stage. He will then give an exhibition of the various calls and cries of the boy scouts, all, as you doubtless know, skillful imitations of real living animals. In this connection I have to assure you that he has nothing whatsoever in his mouth, as it has been sometimes suggested. In conclusion he will deliver a short address on the subject of his great exploits. Ladies and gentlemen, I have finished, and it only now remains for me to retire, having duly announced to you England's darling son, the country zero, the nation's proudest possession, Clarence Chugwater. A moment's breathless suspense, a crash from the orchestra, and the audience are standing on their seats, cheering, shouting, stamping. A small, sturdy, spectacled figure is on the stage. It is Clarence, the boy of destiny.