s clothes, gave
that impression at least, and he wore black kid gloves. Moreover, his
eyes never left the cornice of the room. I saw him rather often after
that night, but never without his gloves and never with his eyes
lowered.

"And ... eh ..." he asked, "what are you doing now, Mr. Granger?"

Lea told him Fox had taken me up; that I was going to go. I suddenly
remembered it was said of Fox that everyone he took up did "go." The
fact was obviously patent to Mr. Polehampton. He unbent with remarkable
suddenness; it reminded me of the abrupt closing of a stiff umbrella. He
became distinctly and crudely cordial--hoped that we should work
together again; once more reminded me that he had published my first
book (the words had a different savour now), and was enchanted to
discover that we were neighbours in Sussex. My cottage was within four
miles of his villa, and we were members of the same golf club.

"We must have a game--several games," he said. He struck me as the sort
of man to find a difficulty in getting anyone to play with him.

After that he went away. As I had said, I did not dislike him--he was
pathetic; but his tone of mind, his sudden change of front, unnerved me.
It proved so absolutely that I was "going to go," and I did not want to
go--in that sense. The thing is a little difficult to explain, I wanted
to take the job because I wanted to have money--for a little time, for a
year or so, but if I once began to go, the temptation would be strong to
keep on going, and I was by no means sure that I should be able to
resist the temptation. So many others had failed. What if I wrote to
Fox, and resigned?... Lea was deep in a manuscript once more.

"Shall I throw it up?" I asked suddenly. I wanted the thing settled.

"Oh, go on with it, by all means go on with it," Lea answered.

"And ...?" I postulated.

"Take your chance of the rest," he supplied; "you've had a pretty bad
time."

"I suppose," I reflected, "if I haven't got the strength of mind to get
out of it in time, I'm not up to much."

"There's that, too," he commented, "the game may not be worth the
candle." I was silent. "You must take your chance when you get it," he
added.

He had resumed his reading, but he looked up again when I gave way, as I
did after a moment's thought.

"Of course," he said, "it will probably be all right. You do your best.
It's a good thing ... might even do you good."

In that way the thing went through. As I w