you're going to be facetious--"

"There are times when nothing else is possible. This is one of 'em.
Brace up, old boy. All's lost but hope and that's going soon. You go
home and take a pill. You're yellow. Perhaps I'll come up for the
week-end for Marcia's party, you know,--if you'll promise to have the
beds well-aired. I'm sure they're reminiscent of Jerry's pugs. Going?
Oh, very well. Love to Jerry. And remember, old top, that a man is as
heaven made him and sometimes a great deal worse."

This was the comforting reflection I took with me to the train that
afternoon. But I was now resigned. I had done what I could and failed.
The only thing left, it seemed, was to reconcile myself to the
situation, seek a friendship with Marcia and await the _debacle_.

I made, of course, no mention of the object of my visit to New York
and Jerry gave me no confidences. He went to town Tuesday and
Wednesday, returned tired and sullen. And the next night after a long
period alone in the study in which I had managed at last to get my
mind on my work, I found Jerry in the dining-room quite drunk with the
brandy bottle beside him. He was ugly and disposed to be quarrelsome,
but I got him to bed at last, suffering myself no graver damage than a
bruised biceps where his great fingers had grasped me. Jack Ballard's
remark about Frankenstein was no joke. That night a monster Jerry was;
from the bottom of my heart I pitied him.

I argued with Jerry in the morning, pleaded with him and threatened to
leave the Manor, but he was so contrite, so earnest in his promises of
reformation that I couldn't find it in my heart to go. I proposed a
trip to Europe, but he refused.

"Not now, Roger," he demurred. "I've got to stay here now. Just stick
around with me for awhile, won't you, old chap?"

"Will you stop drinking?" I asked.

"Brandy?"

"Everything."

"H--m. You're the devil of a martinet."

"Will you?"

It was the supreme test of what remained of my influence over him. His
head ached, I'm sure, for he looked a wreck. I watched his face
anxiously. He went to the table, took a cigarette from the box and
lighted it deliberately. Then turning, faced me with a smile, and
offered his hand.

"Yes," he said. "Old Dry-as-dust, I will."

"A promise? You've never broken one, Jerry."

"A promise, Roger. I--I think I'm getting a little glimmering of
sense. A promise. I'll keep it."

"Thank God, for that," I said, in so fervent a tone that