t of
you would be considerably the gainer."

"Possibly," I rejoined. "But a gift is a gift. You can't say to nature,
take this back and let me have something more paying! Besides, I can't
admit that for any earthly reason I would change. I have no desire to
be a second-rate writer when I know I am a first!"

"By Jove! if conceit could carry the day!"

"No, there is no conceit," I persisted. "Is it conceit to say my hair
is black? It is black, and everybody can see it is. I have nothing to
do with it. Nature made it black, and black it is, and I know it.
Should I gain anything by contending that it was red? I don't see that
I should. However," I added, laughing, "The point is of no consequence.
Put me down as a fifth-rate writer, if you like, until I become the
fashion!"

"It does not seem you ever will, at this pace," he said quietly.

"Very good," I answered, equally quietly.

"Then you will not have the trouble of changing your opinion."

There was a long silence then. We each smoked without a word. At twenty
minutes to ten my father got up. He always went to bed horribly early.

"What are you going to do, Victor?"

"I am going out," I answered, getting up and stretching myself.

"Will you be late?"

"Probably. I got no sleep last night, nor the night before. It's no
earthly use my going to bed when I feel like this. I can't get to sleep
by repeating hymns, as some fellow suggested the other day."

"Why don't you take morphia or something to help you?"

"I don't care to begin taking drugs," I said, "I would rather wear
myself out, and induce sleep in that way. I shall take a three hours'
walk or so."

"Well, good-night."

"Good-night."

When he was gone, I sat a few minutes in the easy chair, with my head
in my hands thinking. I had meant to ask him a question at dinner, but
that argument on talent had put it on one side. Well, it would do later.

"Coming out, Nous?" I said to the collie. The dog started and pricked
his ears.

"Out?" I repeated, and he leapt to his feet and gave himself a joyful
shake, and then stood on the hearth-rug in front of me, swaying slowly
his great brush of a tail and poising his head at an intelligent angle.
I got up, felt for my latch-key, and went into the hall. Nous waited
impatiently while I put on my hat and overcoat, and then we went out
together. The night was cold, wet, and foggy. It was late in November,
and a light mist veiled the end of each black, deserted