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 ~
~
中国创投
」
』
§

简
捡嚣＂站·著

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∑仆

人民‰邮电出′版社
～＼ 北京 〈 烹 ~ ~
~ ~~~

~
～
≡～
→声
…
~~

≡≡
＝
~~~

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~ ~
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 图书在版编目（CIP）数据

中国创投简史／投资界网站著 —北京:人民邮
电出版社』 2017. 1 （2018.4重印）
ISBN978＿7＿115440822
◎咖
中腮
］人

Ⅱ
Ⅱ 日
…目

α）投 ⅡI.@创业投资—经济史—中
国

中国版本图书馆CIP数据核字（2016）第278600号

内容提要

《中国创投简史》系统梳理了目20世纪80年代开始的中国创投产业发展历程’回顾
了各个时代中的代表人物｀著名投资机构以及他们所创下的＿个个投资奇迹。从熊晓鸽｀
沈南鹏等风险投资人的成长经历中’从阿里｀腾讯｀百度｀京东等—代代科技企业巨头的
诞生与演变过程中’我们可以看到风险投资的力量、创业者的企业家精神以及科技创造伟
大财富的神奇过程.此外’本书还附有200l年至20l5年中国股权投资排名榜单。
对于风险投资和私募股权行业的从业者以及有融资需求的创业者来说’本书都是一本
有价值的行业指南◎

◆著 投资界网站
责任编辑王飞龙
责任印制焦志炸
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三河市祥达印刷包装有限公司印刷
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印张; 17 2（）17年1月第1版
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定价: 55.（）（）元

读者服务热线』 （010） 81055656 印装质量热线: （010） 81055316

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 推荐序＿

这是-个伟大的时代｜

—倪正东’清科集团创始人、董事长CEO

20年前’我在清华大学读研究生的时候’还不太懂创业的含义’更没有

听说过“风险投资”或者“创业投资”这些名词。因为一些偶然的原因’ l997

年’ 田范江｀慕岩｀杨锦方和我等一帮清华研究生创办了清华科技创业者协

会’并于l998年创办了亚洲第一个创业计划竞赛＿清华大学创业计划大赛°

那是我进入创投这个行业的起点。没想到’后来自已的命运就彻底因此而改
亦7
≥｀｀√○

l999年’我和清华的几个同学创办了清科’开始为新兴的创投行业提

供各种服务。我把自已定义为行业的店小二’后来又自称为杂货店店长’努

力为这个行业提供最好的基础服务°那个时候’我们根本不知道l5年之后,

中国的创投行业会像现在这样大｀中国的互联网行业会诞生如此多的巨头和

独角兽。当初我的理想并不丰满’但这个时代却创造了如此巨大的机会和潜

力°这个市场实在太肥’就连我自已也由一个年轻的清华瘦条学生’变成了

一个历经磨练的中年小胖子,清科也实现了巨大的增长和发展。

近20年来’我和清科见证｀参与并推动了这个行业的发展。读《中国

创投简史》的时候’我感觉自己不断地在过去的时空中穿梭° 1998年’我

24岁’ 熊晓鸽｀阎众40刚出头’ 丁磊大约27岁’沈南鹏也就30岁’张颖

｜
／
Ⅲ国圃｝捐简史
／

25岁｀还在美国｀大约还没有进入这个行业’ “张震”们还在读本科。那个

时候创投界的四大天王是陈立武、徐大磷、刘宇环、王伯元°我以为他们会
统治这个市场很久很久。但中国就是一个后浪颠覆前浪的大市场°2005年

后’ 中国的投资界开始被熊晓鸽｀周全｀吴尚志｀阎众｀沈南鹏、徐新等引

领; 2009年前后’靳海涛｀刘昼、张磊｀赵令欢等又加入领导者的大军;再

后来’移动互联网时代到来’张颖｀刘芹｀林欣禾｀符绩勋等又脱颖而出;

20l4年之后’又是一波新锐开始自立门户’开启投资界的二次创业大潮; 与

此同时’ 以徐小平、雷军｀蔡文胜等为代表的天使投资人们’也掀起了一轮

“全民天使”的高潮°而此时此刻’我们处在』‘大众创业、万众创新’’的双

创时代’而且是所谓的“资本寒冬”期°今年（20l6年）又有一万亿新的资

金进入股权投资行业’子弹这么充足’寒冬何在?

《中国创投简史》像电影缩影一样’快速地回顾了中国创投和互联网交

织发展的近20年时间’解封了很多当年的故事’确实值得一读。但我们回忆

往事’不是在盖棺定论’也不是为了一个行业的自悔°我们回忆历史’是为

了怀念那段传奇的岁月’更是为了懂慢更美好的未来°我个人深信’到2020

年’ 中国股权投资行业管理资本的总量将超过l0万亿元人民币。我们在信息

技术、生命科学等各个领域将迎来一波一波新的投资机会。

作为典型的70后’我们连接着50后｀ 60后’也连接着80后｀ 90后。

在这个市场上’有五个年代的人共同奋斗在投资的第一线。能够承前启后’

是一种荣幸’也是一种责任。我在这个行业干了接近20年’我还可以再干

30年°我一辈子的青春年华都会献给创投这项伟大的事业°

这是一个伟大的时代’ 中国是一个伟大的国家°我的人生目标就是继续

2
 推荐序—、＼

像滚雪球一样’将清科建成中国最大的创业和投资服务平台。

向创业者们致敬、向投资家们致敬｜ 向我的老伙伴、小伙伴们致敬! 向
这个伟大的时代致敬!

Q
■
 推荐序二

中国的创投资本和下-代互联网巨头

熊晓鸽’ IDG资本创始合伙人

我记得l992年初’我回国来发展的时候’发现国内很多人还不知道什么

是风投,那时也有很多人要创业’尤其是理工科的同学’但是不知道到哪里

去找钱。而今天’ 中国是全世界风投基金最多的国家’也是创业者最多｀最
活跃的国家°

回顾历史’ 中国的互联网发展经历了几个高峰’在l998年—2000年’

中国互联网经历了第一次浪潮。搜狐｀新浪｀ 网易｀腾讯｀阿里巴巴……中

国第一批最重要的互联网公司几乎全部诞生在这几年之间。

之后的2005年可以说是互联网产业发展最快的—年’搜索网站百度在纳

斯达克顺利上市;雅虎中国与电子商务网站阿里巴巴成功实现业务合并;天

涯社区首次获得500万美元的风险投资。这些无不昭示着互联网产业迎来了
又一个发展高峰°

中国的市场容量非常大’ 只要做得好,仅仅开拓国内市场就可以将企业

做成巨无霸’这是我们国内创业者得天独厚的条件。

2000年的时候’ 中国互联网用户的基数还非常小’ IDG资本投资百度、

搜狐的时候’全中国的互联网用户还不到2000万;但是到2004年腾讯上市

时’ 中国互联网用户达到了9000多万; 2005年百度上市时’这个数字已经

｜
／

m国日｜捐简虫

超过一亿。 当用户达到这个规模时’互联网公司才知道怎么赢利°而现在’
我们的互联网用户超过7亿’成为了全世界最大的市场’创业公司的发展前
景是非常大的。

现在市场上的钱越来越多了’投资人之间的竞争也很激烈°20世纪90

年代后期’有一次全中国的专业创投管理人在广州的花园酒店一起聚餐’一

张桌子都坐不满。而现在中国的风险投资基金是全世界最多的’可以说风投
市场已是一片红海°

下—代互联网企业努力的方向

BAI当然很了不起’但BAT最大的弱点在于‘‘过分中国化而不是国际

化”。美国最牛的苹果｀谷歌｀Facebook等公司都在海外市场表现出色。比

如’ Facebook的全世界用户数量快l8亿了’而且还在继续增长°谷歌也是

同样的’谷歌海外销售收入的占比达到70％以上。 当然BAT也都是世界级

的公司。但毕竟其最大的红利仍来自于中国巨大的市场规模以及国家开放的

政策和支持力度。

我们曾经有幸在资本寒冬中投资了一批非常好的互联网公司’包括百

度｀腾讯｀搜狐｀搜房。我们也在思考’未来5～l0年’哪类公司能够超越

BAT呢?我认为下一代的能够超越他们的公司’主要的出资者应该是国内的

机构’并且其公司是在国内上市的。而其产品市场除了中国以外’还应该是

全世界的, 国内国外市场兼顾’这也是IDG资本眼中的下一代巨头的核心特

征。这样的公司更有可能超越BAT’ 当然’ BAT自己也在做这方面的努力。

上一代互联网公司的特点是’初始投资人来自海外,而其市场在国内’并

2
 Ⅶ

~
推

~
~

~
~
~
｀
＼
在海外上市°未来的巨头将一改这种局面。

资本要投中国独有的创新

十多年前’ 中国互联网公司主要是靠模仿国外的商业模式。但现在中国

很多商业模式已经跟国外几乎同步出现’甚至有了中国独有的创新。

在当前的移动互联网时代’创业者巳经没有那么多可模仿的对象’其需

要做出真正的创新°对投资人来说’这也是一个挑战。过去看项目｀投项目

可以参考国外的公司’估值也可以参考国外同行所投的同类公司或那些在纳

斯达克上市了的企业。但现在没有可参照的公司了’你要赌这个商业模式到

底能否做出来’难度可想而知°

对创业者来说’市场好的时候大家不要觉得找到‘‘容易的钱”很重要’

‘‘容易的钱”来投资并不是好事情°创业者需要拥有好的创业方案、好的创

业团队’如果能找到‘‘聪明的钱”来投资’则取得成功的机会更大。

企业上市是创业者的一个重大目标°上市的目的是获得资金｀发展业

务。 当企业发展到需要上市的阶段’需要的资本量已经非常大’不能再靠风

投来支持’企业要考虑在哪些国际股市可以获得融资。

现在’ 中国资本市场正在改变’ 比如新三板’但是按照现行资本市场的

规定’仍然有一些优秀的互联网公司还是在国内上不了市’ 比如京东即便是

放在今天’ 它也无法在国内资本市场上市’而只能在海外上市°因此’我们

希望国家在政策上做些调整’使国内股市更有竞争力’欢迎更多的优质公司

留在国内上市°我认为’更多优秀的消费类互联网公司回来在国内上市’这

是未来的一个方向。

3
／

Ⅲ国｝』｜猖简史

总之,在‘‘大众创业｀万众创新”的背景下’鼓励年轻人创业｀创造新

的就业机会’也有助于国家经济转型。现在中国巳经成为移动互联网用户最

多的市场’移动技术带来很多机会’甚至是超出世界其他国家的海量机会。

无论对于创业者还是投资人’这都是让人非常振奋的。

4
 推荐序三

中国创投的影晌力将会无远弗届

靳海涛’前海母基金首席执行合伙人

一部波澜壮阔的创投简史’就是中华民族近三十年来的复兴史;一部精

彩纷呈的创投简史’就是中国近三十年来的新兴产业发展史;一部生动活泼

的创投简史’也是各路英雄生命之花争奇斗艳的传奇故事.….国家命运、企

业命运｀个人命运’就是这样,通过创业投资串联在了一起。

我很荣幸。不仅仅因为我是这个伟大时代的见证者’更因为’我也是这个

伟大时代的建设者°当我回首往事’享受当下’我不禁为当初的选择｀坚持和

奋斗感到无比自豪°

一路走来’我经历过创业投资洪荒时代的茫然和艰辛;我经历过创投项

目无法在资本市场退出时的焦灼和无奈;我经历过股权分置改革之后迎来创

业投资春天时的欣喜若狂;我经历过政府引导基金遍布中华大地时的无比

荣光; 当然’我也经历过众人面对未来不确定性时的质疑｀守望和一路相

伴. . ˉ…

我感谢党和国家的改革开放与鼓励创新政策;我感谢这个伟大时代’给

我个人带来的丰富馈赠;我还要感谢同僚和各路友人对我的一路鼎力支持。

于我而言’这部中国创投简史’绝不是茶余饭后的谈资’它早已内化成

了我生命中最重要的部分。那些奇范的人’那些不朽的经典案例’那些光怪

｜
Ⅲ国日｜措简座

陆离的现象’那些奇闻秩事’就像一个个音符’就像一段段旋律’或远｀或

近｀或显｀或隐’不时地摇曳在我记忆的每一个波浪之上。是的’ 它们就是

我生命中的一部分’永远也不会离我远去°

就像任何新生事物一样’创投产业的成长道路是曲折的’但前途必然是
光明的。

从短期变量上来看’创业投资面临着企业成长周期｀技术周期｀行业周

期｀资本市场周期｀政策周期等诸多不确定性。所以’在过去的20年里’创

投行业历经了多次起起伏伏’投资机构历经了多次的大浪淘沙’不同案例的

投资回报’更是云泥之别’这使得社会投资人始终对创业投资保持着又爱又
颤的心理.

但是,从长期变量上来看’工商业文明的种子’一旦在拥有全球最大人

口数量而又具备统一性的中国市场播下’随之而来的技术进步｀商业模式的

更迭｀产业和产品的多样化｀企业组织的演进等洪流’必然会催生一个无比

庞大的创业投资市场。正如《道德经》所云: “道生一’一生二’二生三,三生

万物。”放到20年以前’我相信’谁也不会想到’ 中国创业投资行业能发展

到今天这么大的规模°

展望未来,我坚信在不久的将来’ 中国一定会成为全球第一大经济体’

届时’ 中国创业投资的影响力将会无远弗届。而我们现在要做的,就是发现

并把握创投行业内在的发展规律’拆除当下制约行业快速发展的藩篱’去迎

接中国创投行业问鼎全球的时代°

创投行业的内在发展规律在哪里寻觅?答案就隐藏在这本短短的《中国
创投简史》里°
∩≤
 ＼
推荐序三
＼

我坚信’ 未来的中国创投行业’故事会比这本书里面的更精彩’涌现的

英雄人物会 b这本书里面提到的还要多得多! 而未来的时代’将比今天更

伟大!

让我们一起翘首以盼,一起来倒计时吧!

是为序°

3
 ■F▲

肌 言

过去几十年’ 中国企业在仿效别人方面比任何国家做得都好,但是近

来’事情正在发生微妙的变化。

中国的互联网企业已经悄然走到了世界创新的前沿’ ‘℃opytoChina”越

来越少’ “TocopyChina”渐渐成风,庞大的中国市场加上独有的创新力巳经
使得中国互联网企业脐身世界互联网产业一线行列。

在这变化的背后’ 中国创投企业业居功甚伟°他们发掘｀投资了为数众

多的具有潜力的互联网企业’加快了中国互联网企业创新与发展的速度°

不仅如此’他们正在帮传统企业完成产业升级’帮国内的企业到海外去

寻找可以带来技术｀管理、品牌等各方面提升的并购标的。

‘℃opytoChma模式已经达到极限。”硅谷创投教父彼得°蒂尔（Peter
Thiel）在20l5年来华接受媒体采访时说。前两年他的著作《从0到l》风靡

中国创投圈’大家从中寻找着创业、投资的智慧。《中国创投简史》描绘的这

20多年是中国创新创业从0到］的历程’也是中国创投行业从0到l的历程。

在l999年｀ 2000年的时候’VC／PE一年的投资总额只有5亿美元左右’投资

机构管理的资本也不大’很多基金就是l亿美元的规模。现在’ 中国股权投资

机构管理的资金总量超过5万亿人民币’在中国证券投资基金业协会备案的投

资机构大约2万家’活跃的管理机构接近l万家。虽然发展已经很快’但是’

放到整个历史长河中去看’这还只是源头。

这两年,创投行业正在发生着深刻的变化’监管权从国家发改委转到了

｜
巾国日｜猖简史

证监会’ 中国证券投资基金业协会要求基金备案｀要求从业者参加从业资格

考试。中国创投行业由此从松散｀随意走向规范。

本书从20世纪80年代的改革开放开始’ 国际投资巨头进入中国｀本土

创投掘起一路讲述到新一批投资机构大范围诞生°历史在演进’成败得失的

故事在不断发生°但是’我们深知我们的历史描述终究是沧海拾粟’我们无
法记录所有成功的投资’有些成功甚至难以为外界所认知。

所以’让失败沉沙于大海’仅留其—二警示后人’我们用更多笔墨来记
录下那些激动人心的时刻。

本书的作者团队由投资界网站的核心采编人员组成’投资界网站（WWW.

PEdaily.cn）成立于2000年,前身为清科网°依托清科集团深厚的行业资源’

l6年来’投资界网站坚持提供专业、准确｀及时的资讯以及深度报道’积累

了大量的历史素材’这一次’我们择其要者编撰成《中国创投简史》。

历史上’有些创业投资的故事有多个版本’我们多方求证’尽力还原史

实。这些年’很多机构都取得了出色的业绩’但是薄薄的一本《中国创投简

史》难以涵盖所有’如有疏漏’非我所愿’还请谅解。我们也欢迎您提供更

多史料和数据’我们将在未来的增订版中补充。

如果新进入者通过此书可以更快｀更全面地了解中国创投行业的历史’

对我们来说便是不负初衷;如果有人可以从前人的成败中获得激励或启示’
这将是这本书记录历史之外溢出的价值。
∩么
 日录

第-章VC拓荒（ ‖983年＿｜999年） ／｜

第—节政府主导的尝试／3

第二节熊晓鸽与IDGVC的诞生／4

第三节外资机构长驱直人／9

第四节创业板要来了l本土投资机构蜂拥而起 l8

第二章开创者们的远见（ ｜999年—2003年） ／2｛

第—节第—次中国互联网创业泡沫／23

第二节互联网10时代的收获者／30

第三节上市‘窗□期”’外资VC的“黄金时代” ／36

第四节本土拓荒者们的坚持／41

第三章神奇的“2005年”（2O04年-2007年） ／5｜

第＿节股改全流通’本土创投的曙光／53

第二节美国顶级VC组团人华／58

第三节沈南鹏与红杉中国的倔起／64

｜
~／
／~

m国日｜｜措简虫

第四章全民P巨（2008年-2OO9年） ／7｜

第—节金融危机与奥运会’创投洗牌季／73

第二节创业板开了＿本土创投的倔起／80

第三节全民PE’—场不期而遇的泡沫／88

第五章电商时代（20↑0年-20｜4年） ／97

第—节决胜电商／100

第二节58同城的胜利!阎众与林欣禾的投资哲学／l（）6

第三节徐小平’聚美优品背后最大的获利者／112

第四节京东＿役奠定今日资本徐新的“投资女王’’地位 l21

第五节京东｀腾讯背后的金主—高领资本张磊／l28

第六章移动互联网大潮开启（20↑0年-20‖6年） ／｛35

第—节致敬这个时代’移动互联网大潮开启／l37

第二节 ‘雷布斯’背后的男人:刘芹的阳谋／146

第三节纪源资本的倔起’铁三角组合初现／155

第七章VC裂变（20｜3年—20｜6年） ／｛6｜

第—节VC2.（）时代／163

第二节VC格局将巨变 ／l79

2
 目艘＼｀＼

附录ˉ

盾科＿中国股权投资排名榜单十五年汇总

（2001年—2（）15年） ／185

附录二

盘点中国创投15年:多少钱流转｀多少人离合｀

多少事留存 2（）3

3
 2（）＿世纪八九十年代’万物初生’商业萌动’各种商业

形态开始涌入中国’ 包括创业投资°

创业投资（VentureCapital’ 简称VC’又称风险投资）
作为一种投资方式’发源于美国° l946年’美国第一家风

险投资公司成立°从创业投资的概念进入中国至今’ 已经

历了30多年的发展’私募股权投资则更短一些。

最初的创业投资是从国家层面开始椎动的。 当时’ 国

内没有多少人了解创业投资’一切都是在尝试与学习中开

始的
∩么
 叫
年

年
拓

（
℃

’
』
γ

］
‖
『

］
‖
帐厢

立早

芒儿
第-节政府主导的尝试

像美国—样’在中国创业投资行业发展的初期（ l983

年—l992年）,政府起了主导作用’＿系列以促进科技进步

为目的的政策’也同时推动了中国创业投资业的初步发展°

l985年3月,中共中央出台《关于科学技术体制改革

的决定》’指出: “对于变化迅速、风险较大的高技术开发

工作’可以设立创业投资给予支持°’’这＿决定使得中国高

技术创业投资的发展第＿次有了国家级政策层面的依据和

保证。

6个月后’国务院正式批准成立了中国第＿家高技术创

业投资公司＿中国新技术创业投资公司（后文简称“中

创公司”）带着支持中国科技行业快速发展的使命诞生。中

创公司在成立之时就确定将创业投资作为其未来的核心支

撑’职责只有—个’就是对国家科技产业进行创业投资°

中创公司的主要发起股东为国家科委和财政部’中创

公司创立不久’这样的模式开始大范围地在全国复制’各

地科委和财政开启了共同组建政府背景的创业投资机构的

浪潮’ 20世纪90年代’大量政府背景的创业投资机构诞生。

当时’中国的创业投资还没有形成LP群体’创业投资的资

金来源单＿’绝大部分来自政府和国有单位’主要是财政

3
／
m国创‖捐简段

科技拨款。

很快’这些投资机构发现’钱投出去了’但是由于缺

乏退出途径’无法获得投资回报。当时’国内的资本市场

同样处于起步阶段’上交所成立于l990年’深交所成立于

l99l年,即便是中国第—家证券公司（深j｜ ｜特区证券）也

是在—年后的l992年才成立的’大家发现’国外早已成熟

的IPO以及并购退出方式在国内根本不适用°

为了保证机构能够持续运营’不少创业投资企业的资

金运作偏离了初衷和预定方向’开始投向成熟企业和行业’

有的甚至投向当时红火的房地产和证券市场。 l998年6月

22日’身为中国第—家创业投资企业的中创公司终因大量

地产项目的投资失败而被终止业务进行清算’在同—时期’

不少创业投资企业也在类似的道路上天亡。

现在来看’当时这些创业投资公司的失败是必然的。

但是这个尝试是有价值的°借此’中国开始了解｀认识创

业投资°

第二节熊晓鸽与｜DGγC的诞生

就在政府大力推动中国创业投资行业的过程中’—股

市场化的投资力量也敏锐地预见到了快速发展的中国对于

创业投资的迫切需要。

20世纪90年代初’创业投资作为舶来品登陆中国内

4
 第—章VC拓荒（l983年 l999年 「溅＼
＼＼

地。捷足先登者包括美国国际集团（AIG）｀ⅢG｀H＆Q｀中

创公司（Chjna＼／entureTech）、富达（Fidehty＼／entures）｀泛亚

（Transpac）、新加坡政府投资公司（GIC）｀保诚（PAMA）｀
高盛（GoldmanSachs）｀摩根士丹利（MorganStanley）、兰

警亚洲（OrchardAsia）｀宏基技术投资（AcerVC）｀集富亚

洲（JAFCO）｀华登投资（Walden）等。

其中代表性投资案例发生在l998年’AIG基金以28

亿美元投资了中海油’促成并且整体操盘这项投资的是时

任AIG北亚和大中国区董事总经理的阎众’这是当时单笔

投资额最大的投资案例。 3年后’中海油在纽交所成功上

市’这笔投资为AIG获得了3倍回报。

那时可投资的好项目不多’VC们刚进中国’都处在摸索

阶段’不太有正面竞争’而是时常聚在＿起交流’分享经验

教训。

从那时算起投资项目最多｀坚持时间最长的是熊晓鸽

和他的IDGVC（2009年更名为IDG资本）°

l988年,郁郁不得志的乔布斯刚刚离开了苹果,开始

了他的另＿次创业’比尔·盖茨的微软刚刚开始起步。在硅

谷’ 由他们所带来的计算机创业革命正在持续发酵。没有

人能够想象,—位刚刚漂洋过海来到美国的年轻人’数年

后找到了开启中国创投时代的金钥匙。

在美国波士顿弗莱彻法律与外交学院读书的熊晓

5
m国固｜招简史

鸽,这—年暑假受聘于卡纳斯出版公司的《电子导报》

（E／eC／′D″jCB〃sj″ess）’负责其在硅谷电子行业和创业投资方

面的新闻报道。也正是从这时候开始’他接触到了创业投

资,认识了很多创业投资商和创业者。

最先和他打交道的是—群台湾人和美籍华人’他们经

常主动邀请熊晓鸽过去做采访’有时候发传真预约时间’

有时候直接开车来邀请。第＿次听到VC这个词时’熊晓鸽

在脑海中将VC看作是很牛的—群人。硅谷的存在是因为＿

些有技术的人才,有创业传统’还有从老牌电子公司出来

的—些人想创业。其中最为重要的是VC’美国互联网时代

的幌起正是因为VC的推动’硅谷也正是VC与创业者共同

孕育的’ 由此’熊晓鸽慢慢迷恋上了创业与VC。

l99l年8月’熊晓鸽想回内地做中文版刊物但被卡纳

斯出版公司拒绝’心灰意冷的他给IDG董事长麦戈文写信

求职’约好半个小时的面试’他和麦戈文谈了3个小时’

没想到他对中国未来发展的想法与麦戈文不谋而合。

熊晓鸽和麦戈文的相识颇有缘分° l988年’中信集团

董事局主席荣毅仁访美并在弗莱彻演讲’ 《电子导报》赞

助了演讲后的晚宴。在场的麦戈文想与荣毅仁交谈’熊

晓鸽碰巧担当了他们的翻译’他也因此给麦戈文留下了
好感。

3个月后’熊晓鸽正式到IDG上班’ l99l年l2月就
′◎
 第一章VC拓荒（ ］983年—l999年
↑嗡＼

到北京找到《国际电子报》’把这份报纸合并到《计算机世

界》’变成了后来的《网络世界》’这是他到IDG做的第—

个项目°对于刚回国的熊晓鸽来说,他的最初梦想是做一

份关注中国互联网发展的国际性杂志’因为受到麦戈文影

响’熊晓鸽才最终走上了创业投资这条路°

IDG在中国做的第—笔创业投资是l989年l月投资太

平洋比特体育器材公司。随后’ IDG认为’在中国除了出

版业务外’中国的创业投资行业孕育着更大的机会。 l993

年6月’ IDG在上海建立了第—家风投公司＿上海太平

洋技术创业投资公司’熊晓鸽担任第—任总经理。 l999年

之前’中国的IDGVC只是公司内部的—个投资部’ l999年

互联网热潮到来后’ IDGVC改为合伙人制’这也就是今天

的IDG资本的雏形°

IDGVC最早的团队组建颇有些“梁山聚义’’的色彩。

当时’麦戈文请来＿家英国老牌创业投资公司的高级人员

来中国考察’从深』｜ ｜人境’到北京、上海转了一圈’结论

是找不到管理团队。他们选人的标准是:必须有l0年以

上管理基金的经验’读过类似于哈佛｀斯坦福这样名校的

MBA’年龄在35岁～45岁’结果找了—年半都没有合适

人选。在当时的中国’符合这类条件的人才大多在海外’

即使回国也都是供职于投资银行’很少有对创业投资感兴

趣的人。
丁／
Ⅲ国创‖掐简史

熊晓鸽说服了麦戈文’决定自己组建ⅢGVC的本土化

团队°最先被请来的是他的老朋友周全° “周全是中国科学

技术大学毕业,理工科博士’我们认识多年’经历相似’互

相认同。周全没读过MBA’没有管过公司’但是他智商高’

肯学习’且具有不为常人所知的激情°寻找合伙人禾「｜寻找投

资项目有相通之处’没有共鸣是没法合作的。”熊晓鸽后来
回忆道°

作为最早加盟IDGVC的合伙人,没有任何金融背景

的周全当初面临的困难远远不止缺乏基金操作经验这—项°

“上当受骗’与国内合资伙伴目标上的不＿致’与VC运行

机制相适应的法律环境的缺失’尚显稚嫩的私有经济……”

这些至今仍让周全记忆深刻。

周全还曾表示: “IDGVC在设立之初’就建立起了基本

的制度框架’即使后来有了新的GP（普通合伙人）加人’

也不能使基本的制度框架发生大的变动;另外＿方面’在

具体的投资决策上’ IDG总部又给了我们很大的自由’这

使得我们的管理团队非常本土化。”

随后,熊晓鸽和周全遍寻世界’网罗人才。首先加人

的是林栋梁°清华计算机系毕业的林栋梁在l993年之前＿

直和北京科委有合作°—个偶然机会’林栋梁得知IDG与

科协打算—起成立基金’他因此结识了熊晓鸽并最终被熊

晓鸽的诚意打动’他主要负责互联网技术和新能源方面的

8
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cot and have the kettle on the boil for you when you come back.
Ugh! What a perishing evening!”
The vagabonds arm-in-arm set out toward the theatre, the north
wind blowing fiercely up Starboard Alley across the Thames from
Barking Flats—a searching wind, fierce and bitter.
The Dick Whittington company had been rehearsing hard during
the previous week, and now two days before the production on
Boxing Day it was seeming incredible that the management would
ever have the impudence to demand the public’s money to see such
a hopelessly inadequate performance.
“We’ve been in some bad shows, my dear,” Bram said to Nancy
on their way to the theatre, “but I think this is the worst.”
“I’m too tired to know anything about it. But your songs will go all
right, I’m sure.”
He shook his head doubtfully.
“Yes, but that fellow Sturt who plays the Dame is a naughty actor.
He really is dire. I simply cannot get him to work in with me. That’s
the worst of taking a fellow from the Halls. He hasn’t an elementary
notion how to help other people. He can’t see that it takes two
people to make a scene funny.”
“Never mind,” said Nancy, yawning. “It’ll all be splendid, I expect,
on Wednesday. Oh, dear, I am tired. They’ve given you a good trap-
act in the Harlequinade.”
“Yes, that’s all right. But do you know, Nancy, it’s a queer thing, but
I funk trap-acts. I’m never happy till I’ve gone through the last one.”
He stopped short and struck his forehead. “Great Scott!”
“What is the matter?”
“We haven’t got anything for Letizia’s stocking?”
“Bram!”
“What time were we called again?”
“Six o’clock.”
 “Look here,” he said, “you go round and collect some toys from a
toyshop. I’ll make an excuse to Worsley if by any chance he wants
the Fairy Queen at the beginning. But he won’t. He wants to get the
shipwreck right. We shall probably be on that till nearly midnight.”
So Nancy left Bram at the stage-door and went on to do her
shopping. The streets were crowded with people, and in spite of the
cold wind everybody was looking cheerful. The shops, too, with their
brightly lit windows all decorated with frosted cotton-wool and holly,
exhaled that authentic Christmas glow, which touches all but hearts
too long barren and heads too long empty. The man who sneers at
Christmas is fair game for the Father of Lies.
Nancy revelled in the atmosphere, and for a while she allowed
herself to drift with the throng—hearing in a dream the shrill excited
cries of the children, the noise of toy instruments, the shouts of the
salesmen offering turkeys and geese; smelling in a dream that
peculiar odour of hung poultry mixed with crystallised fruit, oranges,
and sawdust; and perceiving in a dream the accumulated emotion of
people who were all thinking what they could buy for others, that
strange and stirring emotion which long ago shepherds personified
as a troop of angels crying, “Peace, good-will toward men.” She felt
that she could have wandered happily along like this for hours, and
she was filled with joy to think that in a short while she should be
welcomed by some of these children as the Spirit of Good. The part
of the Fairy Queen had never hitherto appealed to her; but now
suddenly she was seized with a longing to wave her silver wand and
vanquish the Demon King. She passed four ragged children who
were staring at a heap of vivid sweets on the other side of a plate-
glass window. She went into the shop and bought a bagful for each.
It was wonderful to pass on and leave them standing there on the
pavement in a rapture of slow degustation. But her time could not be
spent in abandoning herself to these sudden impulses of sentimental
self-indulgence. She entered a bazaar and filled her bag with small
toys for Letizia’s stocking—a woolly lamb, a monkey-on-a-stick, a tin
trumpet, a parti-coloured ball—all the time-honoured cargo of Santa
Claus. She had already bought a case of pipes for Bram’s Christmas
present. But now she was filled with ambition to give him some
specially chosen gift that would commemorate this cold Greenwich
Yuletide. What should it be? She longed to find something that would
prove to him more intimately than words all that he had meant to her
these years of their married life, all that he would mean to her on and
on through the years to come. Bram was such a dear. He worked so
hard. He was never jealous. He had nothing of the actor’s vanity, and
all the actor’s good nature. What present would express what she
felt about his dearness? Ash-trays, cigarette-holders, walking-sticks
—what availed they to tell him how deep was her love? Pocket-
books, card-cases, blotters—what eloquence did they possess?
Then she saw on the counter a little silver key.
“Is this the key of anything?” she asked the shopman.
“No, miss, that is what they call a charm. We have a large
assortment this season. This silver puppy-dog, for instance. You’d
really be surprised to know what a quantity of these silver puppy-
dogs we’ve sold. They’re worn on bracelets or watch-chains. Quite
the go, miss, I can assure you.”
“No, I like this key better. Could you let me have a box for it?”
“Certainly, miss.”
“And I want to write something on a card and put it inside if you’d
kindly seal it for me.”
“With pleasure, miss.”
Nancy leant over the counter and wrote, with a blush for her folly:
This is the key of my heart. Keep it always, my darling.
The key and the card were put inside the box; and she hurried off
to the theatre, laughing to herself in an absurdly delicious excitement
at the thought of hiding it under Bram’s pillow to-night.
The dress rehearsal was not over till three o’clock on Christmas
morning. The ladies and gentlemen of the company were all so tired
when at last they were dismissed that when they came out of the
theatre and found Greenwich white and silent under a heavy fall of
snow, not even the comedians had any energy to be funny with
snowballs.
 “What time’s the call to-morrow, dear?” one of the chorus called
back to a friend in a weary voice.
“There’s no call to-morrow, duck. It’s Christmas Day.”
“Gard, so it is!”
“Don’t forget the curtain goes up for the matinée on Boxing Day at
half-past one, dear.”
“Right-o!”
“Queenie’s got her boy staying at the ‘Ship,’” the chorus girl
explained to Nancy. “And she’s the limit for forgetting everything
when he’s about. She’s potty on him. Merry Christmas, Miss O’Finn.”
“Merry Christmas to you.”
All the way back up the court, at the end of which was the stage-
door, the Christmas greetings of one to another floated thinly along
the snowy air.
“A merry Christmas! A merry Christmas.”
Bram took Nancy’s arm, and they hurried away back as fast as
they could to Starboard Alley, where they found Letizia safe in her
cot, one of Mrs. Pottage’s stockings hanging like a coal-sack over
the foot of it.
“You never told me which stocking to put out,” said the landlady.
“So I hung up one of my own. Of course, I hung up one of hers as
well, pore mite, but hers wouldn’t hold more than a couple of acid-
drops. Mine is a little more convenient.”
“How kind of you to sit up for us, Mrs. Pottage,” the two vagabonds
exclaimed.
“Oh, I’ve been thinking over old times. You know. On and off the
doze, as you might say. My friend Mrs. Bugbird didn’t hop it till past
midnight. She generally comes in for a chat of a Monday evening,
and being Christmas Eve she stayed on a bit extra. She’s a real
comic, is Mrs. Bugbird; but she had to be a bit careful how she
laughed to-night, because last week she ricked the plate of her teeth
laughing over a story I told her. Yes, the soup’s lovely and hot. But I
did let the fire out in your sitting-room. So if you wouldn’t mind
coming into my kitchen....”
“Was Letizia good?” the mother asked.
“She hasn’t moved an inch since I put her to bye-bye. I’ve popped
up to look at her several times. In fact, Mrs. Bugbird and me both
popped up, and Mrs. B. said a more sweetly pretty infant she never
did wish to see. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘Mrs. Bugbird,’ I said, ‘that’s something
for you to say with the fourteen you’ve had.’ Fancy, fourteen! Tut-tut-
tut! Still if I’d accepted half my proposals, I’d have had more like forty
by now.”
A canary stirred upon his perch and chirped.
“Hear that?” said Mrs. Pottage. “That blessed bird understands
every word I say. Don’t you, my beauty? Now come along, drink up
your soup, and do eat a little bit of the nice cold supper I’ve put out
for you.”
While her lodgers were enjoying the cold roast beef, Mrs. Pottage
examined the purchases made for Letizia’s stocking.
“Oh, dear, how they do get things up nowadays!” she exclaimed,
holding at admiring arm’s length the monkey-on-a-stick. “Lifelike,
isn’t it? You’ll want an orange and an apple, don’t forget. And I
wouldn’t put in too many lollipops if I was you, or she won’t be able
to eat any turkey. I got you a lovely little turkey. Nine pounds. Well,
you don’t want to sit down to an elephant. I remember one Christmas
I invited my sister to come up from Essex, and I thought she’d
appreciate some turkey, so I told the fishmonger to send in a really
nice dainty little one. Well, by mistake his boy brought round one that
weighed thirty-two pounds and which had won the prize for the
biggest turkey in Greenwich that year. In fact, it come round to me
with a red and white rosette stuck in its how-d’ye-do as big as a
sunflower. Well, it didn’t arrive till past eleven o’clock on Christmas
Eve, and I was down at the ‘Nelson’s Head’ with my sister till closing
time, and there it was waiting for us when we got back, tied onto the
knocker. It gave me a bit of a start, because I’d had one or two for
old sake’s sake, and I thought for the minute some pore fellow had
gone and suicided himself on my front door. Well, there was nothing
to be done but cook it, and my sister’s a small-made woman, and
when we sat down to dinner with that turkey between us she might
have been sitting one side of St. Paul’s and me the other. I give you
my word that turkey lasted me for weeks. Well, the wish-bone was
as big as a church window, and I could have hung my washing out
on the drumsticks. It was a bird. Oh, dear, oh, dear! Well, I know
when I threw the head out to the cat the pore beast had convulsions
in the backyard, and as for the parson’s nose, well, as I said to my
sister, the parson as had a nose like that must have been a Jewish
rabbit. What a set out it was, to be sure! And my turkey which I ought
to have had was sent up to a large family gathering in the Shooter’s
Hill Road, and half the party never tasted turkey at all that
Christmas.”
Mrs. Pottage continued in a strain of jovial reminiscence until her
lodgers had finished supper, after which she wanted to accompany
them upstairs to their room that she might help in the filling of
Letizia’s stocking.
“The fact is,” she whispered hoarsely, “I put that stocking of mine
out, because I’d bought a few odds and ends for her myself.”
She dived into the pockets of her voluminous skirt. “Here we are, a
bouncing dog with a chube at the end of it to squeeze. She can’t
swallow it unless she swallows the dog too, and I don’t think she’ll do
that. The Story of the Three Bears, warranted untearable, which it
isn’t, for I tore up two in the shop with my own hands just to show the
young man he didn’t know what he was talking about. A toy violing.
She won’t be able to play on it, but the varnish won’t hurt her. A drum
—well, it was really that drum which decided me to use one of my
own stockings. My calves have grown whopping. In fact, I’ve often
said jokingly to Mrs. Bugbird that I ought to call them cows
nowadays. That’s the lot, I think. Well, I shan’t wake you in the
morning till you ring. Just one tinkle will be enough. There’s no need
to turn it round as if you was playing a barrel organ, which is what
the fellow who played the villain in His Life for Her did last
November. He wound up all the wire somewhere inside the wall. A
nice set out we had, and then he grumbled because I charged him in
the bill for the work the plumber did to get it right again. Well, good
night, and a merry Christmas.”
When the sound of Mrs. Pottage’s hoarse whispering had
departed, the little candlelit room glowed in the solemn hush of the
great white world, of which it seemed to be the warm and beating
heart. Mother and father bent low over the cot and listened to the
faint breathing of Letizia, watching lovingly those dark tangled curls
and red-rose cheeks. The father bent lower to touch them with his
lips.
“No, no, don’t kiss her, boy,” said the mother. “You might wake her,
and she’ll be having such an exciting day to-morrow.”
Nancy blew out the candle on the table by the bed, and slipped
her silver key beneath Bram’s pillow. A shaft of moonlight pierced the
drawn curtains and struck the canopy of Letizia’s cot. The radiance
vanished as gathering snow-clouds obscured the face of the moon.
Nancy fell asleep to the sound of Bram’s watch carrying on a fairy
conversation amid the echoes of Mrs. Pottage’s absurd stories.
 CHAPTER IX
A MERRY CHRISTMAS
The snowy air had painted the ceiling of the room a lurid grey
when Letizia woke her father and mother next morning. She was
standing up in her cot, holding the footrails of the big bed with one
hand and waving the toy dog in the other.
“Look, muvver, look at my dog? I’ve got a dog, muvver! Look,
faver, I’ve got a dog! Look, I say! Look, look!”
Her parents had just focussed their sleepy eyes on the dog when it
was flung on the floor, and the monkey was being waved in its place.
“Look, muvver, I’ve got a monkey! And he’s climbing up and down.
Look, faver, look at my monkey. Oh, do look!”
The monkey’s triumph was brief, his degradation swift. The fickle
mob had found another favourite.
“Oh, muvver, look at my baa-lamb. I’ve got a little baa-lamb, faver.
Look at my pretty little woolly baa-lamb, faver,” she shouted
imperiously.
But the lamb immediately followed his colleagues to the floor.
“And I’ve got a rub-a-dub-dub and a wheedle-wheedle and an
apple and an orange. And I saw Santy Claus come down the
chiminy, and had a most anormous beard you ever saw and he said,
‘How d’ye do, Tizia, will you give me a nice kiss?’ And I said, ‘Yes,’
and he gived me a kiss, and he put fousands and fousands of lovely
fings into my stocking. Wasn’t Mrs. Porridge kind to give me her
stocking because it was so anormous? And please can I come and
get into bed with you and bring my trumpet?”
“Come along, darling,” invited Nancy, holding out her arms.
 Letizia climbed very cautiously out of her cot and was lifted up on
the bed and deposited between her father and mother, where she
sat and blew her trumpet without a stop until her father picked up his
pillow and pretended to smother her.
“Hullo,” Bram exclaimed, looking at the little box which was thus
uncovered. “Here’s something of mother’s under father’s pillow.”
Nancy smiled and shook her head.
“No, boy, that’s yours.”
Bram smiled and shook his head.
“No, it’s yours. I put it under your pillow last night.”
“But, Bram, I put it under yours.”
By this time Letizia had disentangled herself from the pillow and
was sounding another tucket, so that she had to be smothered all
over again with Nancy’s pillow. And there was revealed another little
box exactly like the first.
“Open it, muvver. Oh, do open it!” Letizia urged. “Perhaps there’s
choc-chocs inside.”
“Strange,” Bram exclaimed. “What’s inside mine, I wonder?”
Nancy and he opened the two boxes. In each one was a silver
key.
“Bram!”
“Nancy!”
“This is the key of my heart. Keep it always, my darling,” he read in
an awed voice.
“With this key you unlocked my heart,” she read in equal awe.
They wished each other a merry Christmas, and with their eyes
they vowed eternal love, those unlocked hearts too full for words,
while Letizia blew such a resounding alarum on her trumpet that she
fetched up Mrs. Pottage.
 “Well now, fancy that! I heard her right downstairs in the kitchen.
Well, it’s real Christmas weather, and no mistake. Good morning, my
beauty, and how are you?”
This to Letizia.
“Mrs. Porridge, Santy Claus brought me a dog and a lamb and a
monkey and a rub-a-dub-dub and a wheedle-wheedle and a trumpet
and a book and an orange and an apple and some sweeties and
fousands of fings. And he came down the chiminy, and I wasn’t a bit
frightened.”
Mrs. Pottage shook her head in delighted admiration.
“Did he come down head first or feet first?”
“Bofe,” Letizia declared, after a moment’s pause.
“You can’t catch her out, can you? Why, she’s as cunning as King
Pharaoh,” Mrs. Pottage chuckled, and with this she departed to fetch
the morning tea.
Nancy was suddenly seized with a desire to go to Mass and take
Letizia.
“I’ll come too,” Bram volunteered. “Now, don’t discourage me.”
It was true that Nancy always was inclined to discourage him from
taking an interest in her religion. Not that she took such a very
profound interest in it herself, to tell the truth. But she had a dread of
people’s saying that she had forced her husband to become a
Catholic. He did at intervals bring up the subject of being received;
but there never seemed to be time to take any steps in the matter
when they were on tour, and when they were resting it seemed a pity
to worry their heads about religion. However, that morning Nancy did
not discourage Bram from accompanying her and Letizia to Mass.
Letizia was very full of her visit to the Crib, when she saw Mrs.
Pottage again.
“And I saw the baby Jesus in his nightygown, Mrs. Porridge.”
“You did?”
 “Yes, and He was lying on His back and kicking His legs up in the
air ever so high. And there was a moo-cow smelling Him.”
“No, darling,” her mother interrupted, “the moo-cow was praying to
Him.”
“Well, he was smelling Him too.”
“You’d have to start walking the week before last to get in front of
her,” said Mrs. Pottage.
There was a letter from Nancy’s father to greet with seasonable
wishes, her and hers, and as a kind of Christmas present there was
an extra flourish to his already florid signature. He had been
engaged to play Sir Lucius O’Trigger in a production of The Rivals at
a West End theatre, and he felt sure that this meant finally
abandoning the provinces for London. There was, too, a letter from
old Mrs. Fuller written by her companion.

Lebanon House
Brigham.
Dec. 23rd, 1894.
Dear Bram,
I can no longer hold a pen, even to wish you a merry
Christmas and a fortunate New Year, and as much to your
Nancy and that unhappily named Letizia. Although I am
indecently old—eighty-two—I ought still to be able to write,
but I’ve had a slight stroke and I who once died to live now
only live to die.
Your loving
Grandmother.

Besides these two letters there were a few cards from friends, but
not many, for it is difficult to keep up with people’s whereabouts on
tour.
The Christmas dinner was entirely a small family affair, but only
the more intensely enjoyed for that very reason. Mrs. Pottage was
invited in to dessert, and also Mrs. Pottage’s assistant, a crippled
girl, who was imported to help in the household work on occasions of
ceremony. Quite what help Agatha Wilkinson was no one ever
discovered, for she could only move with extreme slowness and
difficulty on a pair of crutches. Perhaps her utility lay in being able to
sit quietly in a corner of the kitchen and listen to Mrs. Pottage’s
conversation, which increased in volubility, the more she had to do.
There was a pineapple on the table, a slice of which the landlady
emphatically declined.
“No, thanks, not for me. That’s a thing I only eat from the tin. Raw,
I’d sooner eat a pinecomb any day. Would you like to try a slice,
Aggie?”
Agatha was too shy to refuse when Bram put a slice on her plate,
and Mrs. Pottage watched with obvious gratification her fearful
attempts to manipulate it.
“Ah, I thought she wouldn’t like it. You needn’t eat any more,
Aggie, if it puts your teeth on the edge. Yes, it’s my opinion if
pineapples cost twopence apiece instead of ten shillings people
might buy a few just to throw at strange cats. To scrape your boots
on? Yes. To eat? No. That’s my opinion about pineapples.”
In the evening, when Letizia had been put to bed after a number of
uproarious games in which Bram had surpassed even his own
wonderful record as an animal impersonator, Mrs. Pottage came in
as magnificent as a queen-dowager in black satin to ask if her
lodgers would give her the pleasure of their company in the parlour.
“I’ve got a few friends coming in to celebrate Christmas. Mrs.
Bugbird’s here, and two of my unintendeds—Mr. Hopkins, the
chandler—well, I thought I’d ask him, though he’s no more addition
to anything than a nought, which is what he looks like—and then
there’s Mr. Watcher. Yes, Watcher’s a good name for him, for he
watches me like a dog watches a bone. He and Mr. Hopkins can’t
bear the sight of one another. Well, I daresay there’s a bit of jealousy
in it, if it comes to that, just because I happened to refuse him before
I refused Hopkins. His business is coal. Sells it, I mean. I don’t think
even Watcher would have had the nerve to propose to me if he’d
have actually been a coalman. Oh, dear, oh, dear, who does marry
coalmen, that’s what I ask myself. Or sweeps, if it comes to that?
And then there’s Mr. and Mrs. Breadcutt, who’s an inspector of
nuisances for the London County Council. So, if you’ll come in and
join us, we shall be a very nice merry little party.”
Though they were feeling rather tired, Bram and Nancy accepted
the invitation, because Mrs. Pottage had been so kind to them and
they knew she would be terribly disappointed if they refused.
However, they stipulated that she must not persuade them to stay
very late on account of the matinée, to which, they reminded her, she
had promised to take Letizia to-morrow.
“Oh, I hadn’t forgotten. In fact, I thoroughly enjoy a good
pantomime. It’s a pity Mrs. Bugbird’s got to go and see her relations
over in Putney, because that woman so loves a bit of fun and always
laughs so hearty that she’d make any panto a success just by being
there.”
Mrs. Bugbird, who was in the parlour when Bram and Nancy
walked downstairs, was built on an altogether larger scale than Mrs.
Pottage. The latter was plump and for her age still remarkably
buxom; but she was not noticeably too fat. On the other hand, Mrs.
Bugbird’s immense face crowned a really massive campanulate
base. When she laughed, which was practically all the time, her little
eyes kept bubbling up out of her cheeks and then apparently
bursting as they were once more swallowed up by the rolls of fat.
This likeness to bursting bubbles was accentuated by the drops of
moisture that during her spasms of mirth kept trickling down Mrs.
Bugbird’s cheeks, so that she had from time to time to wipe them
away with an extensive red silk handkerchief on which was printed in
bright yellow a view of the Pool of London.
A feature of Mrs. Pottage’s best parlour was one of those Victorian
triple chairs, two of which were occupied by Mr. Hopkins and Mr.
Watcher. This meant that they were practically sitting back to back,
an attitude which did nothing to allay the rumour of their mutual lack
of esteem. Sitting thus, with their polished bald heads, they looked
like two boiled eggs in a china stand. No doubt, Mrs. Bugbird had
perceived this ridiculous resemblance, for every time she threw a
glance in the direction of the two rivals her eyes bubbled in and out
with the rapidity of soda-water. The outward appearance of Mr.
Breadcutt, the inspector of nuisances, bore no signs of his
profession; indeed he looked as tolerant and as genial a man as one
might expect to meet in a month. Perhaps the nuisances were
ferreted out by Mrs. Breadcutt, an angular woman with a pair of
intelligent, pink-rimmed eyes, who sat up on the edge of her chair
like an attentive bull-terrier. The party was completed by Agatha
Wilkinson.
“Well, now we’re all here, what game shall we play?” Mrs. Pottage
asked expansively.
“Kiss in the ring,” Mr. Breadcutt suggested without a moment’s
hesitation. Whereupon Mr. Hopkins and Mr. Watcher both scowled,
the one at the ceiling, the other at the floor, while Mrs. Bugbird
rocked backward and forward in a convulsion of irrepressible mirth.
“George,” said Mrs. Breadcutt sharply.
“Yes, my dear?”
“Behave yourself, even if it is Christmas. You ought to know better
at your age than suggest such a game in a little room like this.”
“That’s just why I did suggest it,” Mr. Breadcutt retorted. “I’d have a
chance of catching Mrs. Pottage and helping myself to a good one.”
Mr. Hopkins and Mr. Watcher turned simultaneously at this
outrageous admission to glare at the inspector of nuisances.
Unfortunately Mr. Hopkins turned his head to the left and Mr.
Watcher turned his head to the right, so that their eyes met, and
instead of glaring at Mr. Breadcutt they glared at each other.
“Well, I’m going to call on Mr. Fuller for a song,” said Mrs. Pottage.
She apologised later for thus dragging him into a performance on his
night off. “But really,” she said, “I thought Hopkins and Watcher was
going to fly at one another. They looked like a couple of boxing
kangaroos.”
Bram obliged the flattered company with two or three songs which
Nancy accompanied on the ancient piano, the noise of which was
the occasion of another apology by the hostess.
“More like teeth clicking than music, isn’t it? Well, it hasn’t really
been used since the year dot excepting for a bookcase. It belonged
to my dear old dad, and he only bought it to cover up a spot in the
wall where the roof leaked. He couldn’t bear music, the dear old
man. When he was over seventy, he nearly got fined for squirting a
syringe full of the stuff he washed his greenhouse with into the big
end of a cornet and which a blind man was playing outside his
house. Of course, as he explained, he wasn’t to know the pore fellow
was blind or he’d have spoke before he spouted. But I’m very fond of
music, I am.”
And to prove her sincerity Mrs. Pottage sang Two Lovely Black
Eyes, a performance which so utterly convulsed Mrs. Bugbird that
she fell off her chair, and sat undulating on the floor for nearly five
minutes, until the united efforts of the male guests got her back
again, when in order to deal with the moisture induced by such
excess of mirth, she had to produce her reserve handkerchief, on
which was printed a gruesome picture of the execution of Mr. and
Mrs. Manning.
Then Nancy sang to Bram’s accompaniment, after which Bram
gave imitations of familiar animals to the intense pleasure of Mr.
Breadcutt, who slapped his leg and declared he was a blooming
marvel.
“George!” snapped his wife.
“Yes, my dear?”
“Don’t swear!”
“Blooming isn’t swearing.”
“It’s as near as not to be worth an argument,” she said severely.
This caused Mr. Breadcutt to wink at Mr. Watcher, who thought he
was winking at Mrs. Pottage and did not respond.
Then Mr. Hopkins tried to remember for the benefit of the company
what he assured everybody was a capital game that he often used to
play at social gatherings twenty years ago.
 “We all sit round in a circle,” he began in a doleful voice. “Wait a
minute, what do you do next? Oh, yes,” he went on, as soon as he
was sure that Mr. Watcher had been successfully isolated from Mrs.
Pottage. “Now we all join hands.” Perhaps the emotion of finding her
plump hand firmly imprisoned in his own was too much for the ship-
chandler, for he could not remember what was the next move. “Wait
a minute,” he implored, holding Mrs. Pottage’s hand tighter than
ever. “Don’t move, and I’ll remember in a jiffy. Oh, yes, I’ve got it! I
knew I would! Somebody has to be in the middle of the circle. Mr.
Watcher, perhaps you’d stand in the middle, will you?”
“Hadn’t you better stand in the middle yourself?” the coal-
merchant replied. “You thought of this game. We aren’t guilty.”
“Don’t be so gruff, Watcher,” said Mrs. Pottage sternly. “You’ve
been sitting like a skelington at the feast ever since you arrived.
Wake up and be a man, do.”
Thus adjured Mr. Watcher unwillingly stood up in the middle of the
circle.
“What’s he do now, Hopkins?” Mrs. Pottage asked.
“I’m trying to remember. Oh, yes, of course, I know. I know. I know!
He’s blindfolded,” Mr. Hopkins exclaimed in a tone as near to being
cock-a-whoop as his low-pitched funereal voice could achieve.
“Mrs. B., you’ve got a nice big handkerchief. Tie Watcher up,
there’s a good soul,” the hostess ordered.
Mrs. Bugbird in a gurgle of suppressed laughter muffled the coal-
merchant’s disagreeable countenance with her reserve
handkerchief, from which his bald head emerged like one of those
costly Easter eggs that repose on silk in the centre of confectioners’
shops.
“Now what does he do, Hopkins?”
“Just a minute, Mrs. Pottage. I’m stuck again. No, I’m not. I
remember perfectly now. Turn him round three times.”
This was done, and there was another pause.
 “Well, what next?” everybody asked impatiently.
“That’s just what I’m bothered if I can remember,” said the
chandler at last. “It’s on the tip of my tongue too ... but wait ... yes, no
... yes, I’ve got it ... he asks ... no, that’s wrong, he doesn’t ask
anything, we ask him.... Now what the juice is it we do ask him?...
Don’t say anything, because I’ll remember in a minute.... I’m bound
to remember.... You see, it’s such a long time since I played this
game that some of the rules....”
“Look here,” Mr. Watcher’s irate voice growled through the folds of
the handkerchief, “if you think I’m going to stand here wrapped up
like a Stilton cheese while you remember what game you played with
Nore in the Ark, you’re blooming well mistaken. And that’s that.”
“If you’d only have a morsel of patience, Mr. Watcher. I can’t
remember the whole of a big game all at once,” protested the
chandler, still clinging desperately to Mrs. Pottage’s hand. “But I will
remember it. It’s on the tip of my tongue, I tell you.”
“Well, what’s on the tip of my tongue to tell you,” shouted Mr.
Watcher, “I wouldn’t like to tell anybody, not in front of ladies.” With
which he pulled down the handkerchief round his neck and stood
glaring at the other players with the expression of a fierce cowboy.
Mr. Breadcutt in order to quiet the coal-merchant proposed as a
game familiar to everybody blind man’s buff.
“Not me you don’t blindfold again,” said Mr. Watcher. “And if Mr.
Hopkins starts in to try I’ll blindfold him without a handkerchief.”
“Well, what about a snack of supper?” suggested the hostess, who
felt that the situation required a diversion.
And her supper was such a success that before it was over the
two rivals were confiding in each other various ways of getting the
better of their common enemy, the purchaser.
When it was time to adjourn again to the parlour, Bram and Nancy
begged to be excused from enjoying themselves any longer in Mrs.
Pottage’s company in view of the hard day before them at the
Theatre Royal.
 “You’ve given us such a jolly Christmas, dear Mrs. Pottage,” said
Bram.
“A lovely Christmas,” Nancy echoed.
“Well, I’m sure I’ve enjoyed myself, and Mrs. Bugbird said she’s
never laughed so much in all her life as what she did when Mr. Fuller
was imitating them animals. ‘Lifelike,’ she said they was, and she
spent her girlhood on a farm, so that’s a bit of a compliment coming
from her. Well, good night. Oh, dear, oh, dear, before we know where
we are we shall be seeing in the New Year. I’m bound to say, what
with one thing and another life’s full of fun.”
 CHAPTER X
THE PANTOMIME
“Now listen, Letizia, you’re to be a very good little girl and do
anything that Mrs. Pottage tells you without arguing,” Nancy
admonished her small daughter before she left Starboard Alley next
morning to dress for the matinée.
“Can I take my lamb what Santy Claus gave me to the
pantomine?”
“Yes, I daresay Mrs. Pottage will let you.”
“And my dog? And my monkey? And my rub-a-dub-dub and my
wheedle-wheedle and my....”
“No, darling, you can take the lamb, but the others must stay at
home.”
“I aspeck they’ll cry,” Letizia prophesied solemnly. “Because they
guessed they was going to the pantomine.”
“If she isn’t a regular masterpiece,” the landlady exclaimed. “Oh,
dear, oh, dear! She’s got an answer for every blessed thing. Listen,
my beauty, we’ll leave the rest of the menargerie to keep John
company.”
John was the canary, and fortunately this solution commended
itself to Letizia, who seemed more hopeful for the happiness of the
toys that were going to be left behind.
There is no doubt that the presence of Mrs. Pottage and Letizia
contributed largely to the success of the Theatre Royal pantomime
that afternoon. No false shame deterred Letizia from making it quite
clear to the audience that it was her own mother who bearded the
Demon King Rat in his sulphurous abode.

“Stop, ere you any viler magic potions brew,

 For I declare such wickedness you soon shall rue.”

“Muvver!” cried Letizia, clapping her hands in an ecstasy of

welcome.
“Ush!” said a solemn and deeply interested woman sitting in the
row behind.
“It is my muvver, I tell you,” said Letizia, standing up on the seat of
the stall and turning round indignantly to address the woman over
the back of it.
“Of course, it’s her mother,” Mrs. Pottage joined in even more
indignantly. “Nice thing if a child can’t call out ‘mother’ in a free
country without being hushed as if she was nobody’s child.”
The solemn woman took an orange out of a bag and sucked it in
silent disapproval.

“No use for you to raise the least objection,

Dick Whittington is under my protection,”

declared the Fairy Queen, waving her wand to the accompaniment

of a white spot-light.

“In vain you seek to make my plans miscarry,

For Dick his master’s daughter shall not marry,”

declared the Demon King Rat, waving his sceptre to the

accompaniment of a red spot-light.
“That man’s bad,” Letizia announced gravely.
If the traditional scene of alternate defiance of each other by the
powers of Good and Evil had lasted much longer, she might have
made an attempt to reach the stage and fight at her mother’s side;
but the Demon King Rat vanished down a trap and the Fairy Queen
hurried off Left to make way for Cheapside.
“Why has faver got a red nose?” Letizia inquired, when Bram
entered made up for Idle Jack. “I don’t like him to have a red nose.