"boring," and such have even done me the compliment to wonder why I
countenance him. But, on the other hand, there is a large faction
who marvel at his countenancing such a dishevelled, discreditable
acquaintance as myself. Few appear to regard our friendship with
equanimity. But that is because they do not know of the link that binds
us, of my amiable connection via Jamaica with Mr. Ledbetter's past.

About that past he displays an anxious modesty. "I do not KNOW what I
should do if it became known," he says; and repeats, impressively, "I do
not know WHAT I should do." As a matter of fact, I doubt if he would do
anything except get very red about the ears. But that will appear
later; nor will I tell here of our first encounter, since, as a general
rule--though I am prone to break it--the end of a story should come
after, rather than before, the beginning. And the beginning of the story
goes a long way back; indeed, it is now nearly twenty years since
Fate, by a series of complicated and startling manoeuvres, brought Mr.
Ledbetter, so to speak, into my hands.

In those days I was living in Jamaica, and Mr. Ledbetter was a
schoolmaster in England. He was in orders, and already recognisably the
same man that he is to-day: the same rotundity of visage, the same or
similar glasses, and the same faint shadow of surprise in his resting
expression. He was, of course, dishevelled when I saw him, and his
collar less of a collar than a wet bandage, and that may have helped to
bridge the natural gulf between us--but of that, as I say, later.

The business began at Hithergate-on-Sea, and simultaneously with Mr.
Ledbetter's summer vacation. Thither he came for a greatly needed rest,
with a bright brown portmanteau marked "F. W. L.", a new white-and-black
straw hat, and two pairs of white flannel trousers. He was naturally
exhilarated at his release from school--for he was not very fond of the
boys he taught. After dinner he fell into a discussion with a talkative
person established in the boarding-house to which, acting on the advice
of his aunt, he had resorted. This talkative person was the only
other man in the house. Their discussion concerned the melancholy
disappearance of wonder and adventure in these latter days, the
prevalence of globe-trotting, the abolition of distance by steam and
electricity, the vulgarity of advertisement, the degradation of men
by civilisation, and many such things. Particularly was the talkative