stifle the touch of fear and homesickness that rose in him.

"I have seen a great play to-night," he said to the Lion, "nobly
played by great players. What will they care for my poor wares?
I see that I have been over-bold. But we cannot go back now--not
yet."

He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and nodded "good-night" to
the great world beyond his window. "What fortunes lie with ye,
ye lights of London town?" he quoted, smiling. And they heard
him close the door of his bedroom, and lock it for the night.

The next morning he bought many geraniums from Prentiss and
placed them along the broad cornice that stretched across the
front of the house over the shop window. The flowers made a band
of scarlet on either side of the Lion as brilliant as a Tommy's
jacket.

"I am trying to propitiate the British Lion by placing flowers
before his altar," the American said that morning to a
visitor.

"The British public you mean," said the visitor; "they are each
likely to tear you to pieces."

"Yes, I have heard that the pit on the first night of a bad play
is something awful," hazarded the American.

"Wait and see," said the visitor.