ea. "Mary's heart's broke.... I'm drunk." One hand waved broadly in an
oratorical gesture. After a moment he added in solemn afterthought,
"Father's drunk, too."

Hamilton ground his teeth. "I suppose," he said bitterly, "you regard
the first two facts as justification for the others."

Paul rose and through his condition something of his more normal self
asserted itself. He laid his hands on his brother's shoulders.
"Hamilton, I think my heart's broke, too. Mary's a sweet girl. I haven't
slept f'r a long, long time--been worrying--an' tonight I--"

"Never mind explaining." Out of the elder brother's voice the wrath had
died. "That won't help now. Come, I'll put you to bed."

As he turned away from Paul's bedroom a half-hour later the face of
Hamilton Burton was not the face of the conqueror. In his own room he
went to a window and looked out. He saw a star and some fancy identified
it as the same star that had caught his eye that night when he came back
to the farm-house and found his father ill. Once more it was not in the
east riding toward the upper heavens, but in the west, setting beyond
the Palisades of Jersey--soon to drop from view.

For a breathing-space Hamilton Burton felt faint and uncertain, as one
may feel in a dream which is half-wakefulness.

Then he was conscious of his own voice speaking half-aloud:

"Slivers Martin paid me ten for 'em an' I got 'em for seven--an' he had
to go after 'em."

The words had come involuntarily--as from another personality speaking
with his tongue, and they startled him. With a fiercely impatient
gesture he brushed his hand across his forehead and picked up from a
table a new appreciation of the life and campaigns of Napoleon
Bonaparte.

Yamuro slipped in with his cushioned tread and stood awaiting orders,
and after a while the master whose attention refused to remain fixed
even on Napoleon glanced up.

"You may go, Yamuro," he said in a wearied voice, but the Japanese valet
did not go. Instead he approached and his face grew anxious as he noted
the confused and fatigued droop of his master's eyes and lips.

"'Scuse, please," he hazarded as his white teeth flashed in an
apologetic grin. "You tired. You go down gymnasium--take ex'cise--one
half-hour. Yes, one half-hour and me rub you Japanese way; make you
sleep--yes, please."

Hamilton Burton raised his head slowly. "Perhaps," he acceded in a dull
voice, "that mightn't be a bad idea. I do feel a bit fagged--fo