that girl you met at Newport and
afterwards in Naples? You told me once--"

"Never mind the girl," he said. "You are a married man, and I an old
bachelor. Leave girls to those who have use for them. If we are to get
any trout to-morrow, it's time we turned in. And if you won't stay, I'll
go with you to the tavern and knock up old Hodge: he's been asleep these
four hours." I thought he had talked enough for one night, so I said no
more, but got back to bed.

II.

WORSE YET.

Hartman had asked me to stay with him, but there is no use of
overloading friendship, and I like to be my own master as well as he
does. I might get tired of him, or he of me; and it's not well to be
chained to your best friend for a solid week. Not that I am afraid of
Hartman; he is not a lunatic, only a monomaniac; but I can cheer him up
better when I have a good line of retreat open. He took me next morning
to some superior pools, where the trout were fat and fierce; but I had
not my usual skill. The truth is, Jim was on my mind; and after missing
several big fish and taking a good deal of his chaff, I begged off--said
I had letters to write--and so got to the tavern in time for dinner,
which they have at the pagan hour of half-past eleven. Then I set to
work thinking. I am not quite so dull as I may seem, but Hartman always
had the ascendancy at college, and last night I fell into the old way of
playing chorus to his high tragedy. This will not do, and I must assert
myself. He was much the better student of course, but I have knocked
about and seen more of the world than he has, shut up in these woods
like a toad in a tree. He is too good a sort to go to seed with his
confounded whimseys; so I determined to take a different tone with him.
And I wrote to my wife about it: Mabel is a competent woman, and
sometimes has very good ideas where mine fail--though of course I seldom
let her see that. That evening I took him in hand.

"Jim," I said, "I've been thinking--about you."

"Ah," said he. "Large results may be expected from such unusual
exertion. Impart them by all means."

"James Hartman, you are lazy, and selfish, and unprincipled."

"Yes?" said he, in an inquiring tone. "That is your thesis. Prove it."

I went on. "A man should be doing something: you are doing nothing. A
man should have a stake in the community. What have you got? Three dogs
and an old cow. A man should be in connection and sympathy with the
great tides of