e stood listening to the
weird song of a salvation woman; he dropped a nickel into a rich
beggar's hat; he saw the grief-stricken newsboy weeping in a doorway,
and believing that he was a liar, gave him a penny; he went to sleep in
a hotel and dreamed that he saw a woman with bowed head listening to the
angelus.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE BIGGEST LIAR ON EARTH.

When Milford reached Rollins he found the Professor at the station
waiting for him. "I will go home with you," he said. "I have something
of grave importance to communicate." Steve Hardy offered them a ride in
his milk wagon, but they set out on foot, at the suggestion of the
Professor, who said that in this way he could better lead up to his
subject. Milford was silent till they had proceeded some distance down
the lane, and then he asked if anything had gone wrong. The Professor
answered that everything had gone wrong, but as he had not yet led up to
his subject, he continued to walk on, brooding, sighing like the wind in
the rushes. They turned the corner, went down a slope, and at the
bottom, the scholar took Milford by the arm apparently to conduct him to
the subject, which presumably was waiting on the top of the hill.

"We are coming to it, my dear Milford. It is elusive, but we are almost
to it. Now, here we are," he said, with evident relief, as they reached
the top of the hill.

"All right, go ahead," said Milford. "Shoot it off."

"Idiomatic," breathed the Professor. "And, sir, to follow it with idiom,
I am up against it."

"Up against what?"

"Failure, grinning and teeth-chattering failure. You have seen me turn
defiantly upon my false training, and woo the ways of the world. You
have seen me buy; you have seen me snatched off my feet by a yearling
calf, in the presence of a dignified woman; you have heard me pop my
whip at the crack of day. And what has it all come to? Failure. I know
that this sounds funny to you, but it is my way, and I find it useless
to attempt another. Now, to the point: On all my speculations I have
lost money. My bargains turned out to be disasters. I sold at a
sacrifice, and am still in debt. I don't know why I should not have
succeeded. My object was as worthy as yours. But I failed."

"That may be, but you're nearly as well off as you were before you made
the attempt. You haven't so much to grieve over after all."

"Oh, yes, I have. My life insurance. But for that I could snap my
fingers at defeat."

"When's