that Friday was unlucky," said Anthony.

"Well, and so it is," said Adrian.

"I don't agree with you. Friday, in my experience, is the luckiest day
of the seven. All sorts of pleasant things have happened to me on
Friday."

"That's merely because your sponsors in baptism happened to name you
Tony," Adrian explained. "Friday, and the still more dread thirteen,
are both lucky for people who happen to be named Tony. Because why?
Because the blessed St. Anthony of Padua was born on a Friday, and went
to his reward on a thirteenth--the thirteenth of June, this very month,
no less." He allowed Anthony's muttered "_A qui le dites-vous_?" to
pass unnoticed, and, making his voice grave, continued, "But for those
of us who don't happen to be named Tony--_unberufen_! Take a man like
me, for instance, an intellectual young fellow, with work to do, but
delicate, and dependent for his strength upon the regular
administration of sustaining nourishment. Well, Friday comes, and
there he is, for twenty-four hours by the clock, obliged to keep up, as
best he may, on fish and vegetables and suchlike kickshaws, when every
fibre of his frame is crying out for meat, red meat. And now"--he
pushed back his chair--"and now, dear heart, be brave. Steel yourself
to meet adversity. A sorrow stoically borne is already half a sorrow
vanquished. I must absent thee from thy felicity a while---I must be
stepping." He rose, and moved, with that dancing gait of his, to the
door. From the threshold he remarked, "If you will come to my
business-room about half an hour before luncheon, I shall hope to have
the last bars polished off, and I 'll sing you something sweeter than
ever plummet sounded. _Lebe wohl_."

"Yes," thought Anthony, left to himself, "barring happy accidents, I
must wait till Sunday."

And he went into the park.

"The nuisance," he said to Patapouf, as he released him, "the nuisance
of things happening early is that they 're just so much the less likely
to happen late. The grudge I bear the Past is based upon the
circumstance that it has taken just so much from the Future.
Meanwhile, suggest the unthinking, let's enjoy the present. But
virtually, as I need n't remind _you_, there is no such thing as the
present. The present is an infinitesimal between two infinites. 'T is
a line (a thing without breadth or thickness) moving across the surface
of Eternity. The present is no more, by the time you have said, This
is