Mr. Arthur Mackwayte slipped noiselessly into the dining-room and took his place at the table. He always moved quietly, a look of gentle deprecation on his face as much as to say: “Really, you know, I can’t help being here: if you will just overlook me this time, by and by you won’t notice I’m there at all!” That was how he went through life, a shy, retiring little man, quiet as a mouse, gentle as a dove, modesty personified. That is, at least, how Mr. Arthur Mackwayte struck his friends in private life. Once a week, however, he fairly screamed at the public from the advertisement columns of “The Referee”: “Mackwayte, in his Celebrated Kerbstone Sketches. Wit! Pathos! Tragedy!!! The Epitome…
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