trying to read, and you pacing up and down
like a wild beast. What the devil's up?"

"The devil himself, that's what's up," said Peter savagely. "Look here,
Pen, come on down town and let's have a spree. I hate this place and this
infernal camp. It gets on my nerves. I must have a change. Will you come?
It's my do."

"I'm with you, old thing. I know what you feel like; I get like that
myself sometimes. It's a pleasure to see that you're so human. We'll go
down town and razzle-dazzle for once. I'm off duty till to-night. I ought
to sleep, I suppose, but I can't, so come away with you. I won't be a
second."

He disappeared. Peter stood for a moment, then slipped his tunic off and
put on another less distinctive of his office. He crossed to the desk,
unlocked it, and reached for a roll of notes, shoving them into his
pocket. Then he put on his cap, took a stick from the corner, and went
out into the passage. But there he remembered, and came quickly back.
He folded Hilda's letter and put it away in a drawer; then he went out
again. "Are you ready, Pennell?" he called.

The two of them left camp and set out across the docks. As they crossed a
bridge a one-horse cab came into the road from a side-street and turned
in their direction. "Come on," said Peter. "Anything is better than this
infernal walk over this _pave_ always. Let's hop in."

They stopped the man, who asked where to drive to.

"Let's go to the Bretagne first and get a drink," said Pennell.

"Right," said Peter--"any old thing. Hotel de la Bretagne," he called to
the driver.

They set off at some sort of a pace, and Pennell leaned back with a
laugh. "It's a funny old world, Graham," he said. "One does get fed-up at
times. Why sitting in a funeral show like this cab and having a drink in
a second-rate pub should be any amusement, I don't know. But it is.
You're infectious, my boy. I begin to feel like a rag myself. What shall
we do?"

"The great thing," said Peter judiciously, "is not to know what one is
going to do, but just to take anything that comes along. I remember at
the 'Varsity one never set out to rag anything definitely. You went out
and you saw a bobby and you took his hat, let us say. You cleared, and he
after you. Anything might happen then."

"I should think so," said Pennell.

"I remember once walking home with a couple of men, and one of them
suggested dousing all the street lamps in the road, which was a
residential one leading int