itude betrayed the
self-conscious actor, but there was that in his countenance which could
only have come of real misery. The thin cheeks, heavy-lidded and
bloodshot eyes, ill-coloured lips, made a picture anything but
agreeable to look upon; and quite in keeping with it was the shabbiness
of his garb. After an intent and stern gaze at him, Will asked bluntly:

"When did you last have a bath?"

"Bath? Good God--how do I know?"

And again Franks laughed in the key of stage recklessness.

"I should advise a Turkish," said Will, "followed by rhubarb of the
same country. You'd feel vastly better next day."

"The remedies," answered Franks, smiling disdainfully, "of one who has
never been through moral suffering."

"Yet efficacious, even morally, I can assure you. And, by the bye, I
want to know when you're going to finish 'The Slummer.'"

"Finish it? Why, never! I could as soon turn to and build a bridge over
the Thames."

"What do you mean? I suppose you have to earn your living?"

"I see no necessity for it. What do I care, whether I live or not?"

"Well, then, I am obliged to ask whether you feel it incumbent upon
you--to pay your debts?"

The last words came out with a jerk, after a little pause which proved
what it cost Warburton to speak them. To save his countenance, he
assumed an unnatural grimness of feature, staring Franks resolutely in
the face. And the result was the artist's utter subjugation; he
shuffled, dropped his head, made confused efforts to reply.

"Of course I shall do so--somehow," he muttered at length.

"Have you any other way--honest way--except by working?"

"Very well, then, I'll find work. Real work. Not that cursed daubing,
which it turns my stomach to think of."

Warburton paused a moment, then said kindly:

"That's the talk of a very sore and dazed man. Before long, you'll be
yourself again, and you'll go back to your painting with an appetite
And the sooner you try the better. I don't particularly like dunning
people for money, as I think you know, but, when you can pay that debt
of yours, I shall be glad. I've had a bit of bad luck since last we saw
each other."

Franks gazed in heavy-eyed wonder, uncertain whether to take this as a
joke or not.

"Bad luck? What sort of bad luck?"

"Why, neither on the turf nor at Monte Carlo. But a speculation has
gone wrong, and I'm adrift. I shall have to leave this flat. How I'm
going to keep myself alive, I don't know yet. The B