ad been on the stage.

"Only walking on," he said, with a shake of his head. "The only speaking
part I ever had was a cough. You ought to ha' heard that cough, George!"

Mr. Burton politely voiced his regrets and watched him anxiously. Mr.
Stiles, shaking his head over a somewhat unsuccessful career, was making
a bee-line for the Cock and Flowerpot.

"Just for a small soda," he explained, and, once inside, changed his mind
and had whisky instead. Mr. Burton, sacrificing principle to friendship,
had one with him. The bar more than fulfilled Mr. Stiles's ideas as to
its cosiness, and within the space of ten minutes he was on excellent
terms with the regular clients. Into the little, old-world bar, with its
loud-ticking clock, its Windsor-chairs, and its cracked jug full of
roses, he brought a breath of the bustle of the great city and tales of
the great cities beyond the seas. Refreshment was forced upon him, and
Mr. Burton, pleased at his friend's success, shared mildly in his
reception. It was nine o'clock before they departed, and then they only
left to please the landlord.

"Nice lot o' chaps," said Mr. Stiles, as he stumbled out into the sweet,
cool air. "Catch hold--o' my--arm, George. Brace me--up a bit."

Mr. Burton complied, and his friend, reassured as to his footing, burst
into song. In a stentorian voice he sang the latest song from comic
opera, and then with an adjuration to Mr. Burton to see what he was
about, and not to let him trip, he began, in a lumbering fashion, to
dance.

Mr. Burton, still propping him up, trod a measure with fewer steps, and
cast uneasy glances up the lonely road. On their left the sea broke
quietly on the beach below; on their right were one or two scattered
cottages, at the doors of which an occasional figure appeared to gaze
in mute astonishment at the proceedings.

"Dance, George," said Mr. Stiles, who found his friend rather an
encumbrance.

"Hs'h! Stop!" cried the frantic Mr. Burton, as he caught sight of a
woman's figure bidding farewell in a lighted doorway.

Mr. Stiles replied with a stentorian roar, and Mr. Burton, clinging
despairingly to his jigging friend lest a worse thing should happen, cast
an imploring glance at Mrs. Dutton as they danced by. The evening was
still light enough for him to see her face, and he piloted the corybantic
Mr. Stiles the rest of the way home in a mood which accorded but ill with
his steps.

His manner at breakfast ne