told the Pater a few
things--opened his eyes. He's a publisher--Sunday school prizes and that
sort of thing. Stacks of money! No imagination. Most people have no
imagination. They see things in a detached way. They see them, somehow,
as if they're in print or going on on a stage. But not really
happening. The Pater simply said I ought to be ashamed of myself--as
if I'm not!"

He broke off and tried to light a cigarette with fingers that trembled.
Three, four matches he struck before he got it lighted and puffing. She
sat silent, listening to the murmur of voices and the swishing water.

"Why the devil I'm telling you this I can't imagine," he said at last.
"Most girls would have yelled out for help before this."

"I think, you know," she said rather breathless, "I think you're a great
idiot! You _ask_ for things, don't you?"

"But what is there for a man to do out there? There's nothing I want to
do except medicine, and that's past for ever now. There's nothing to do
but get drunk. I've tried, often--got jobs, and all that. But there's no
inducement--and I've told you how easy it is not to starve."

"But it's so--so beastly! You might as well be dead--you're not happy."

"That's exactly what I think. That's what I'm going to do. I got ten
pounds out of the Mater. She's always ready to give me anything if it
happens to be the beginning of the month and she's well off. The Pater
solemnly presented me with three pounds--that's ten shillings a week for
smokes for the six weeks of the trip. I'll buy bull's-eyes with it, I
think. That'd please him. That makes thirteen pounds, and there's ten
pounds waiting for me in Sydney. I'll have a damned good bust-up then,
and then I'll finish the job for ever."

"Oh, I do think you're mad--raving mad!" she cried, and could say
nothing else.

"Of course it's by no means certain I'll have enough courage to kill
myself. I rather doubt it! You see, they didn't breed me with courage.
They've given me porridge in my veins instead of blood! They press
electric buttons for their emotions and keep them down as long as is
respectable! They didn't give me grit at all--they gave me convention
and respectability. Everything I wanted to do they restrained because
so many of the things I wanted to do seemed natural but were not
respectable. And in the end they made a first-class liar of me." There
was a long, terrible silence.

"To-night, for a bit, I'm stripped bare here," he said in a low