es,
you were filling yourself up with ozone, and preparing to make a night
of it. Apropos--Ramsdell!"

"Yes, sir?" Ramsdell appeared upon the threshold of the outer room.

"Go to bed, like a Christian, when you get ready. No need for you to
become a martyr, because Mr. Whittenden and I wish to carouse till all
hours. When I need you, Mr. Whittenden will come to wake you, and you
can appear in your pajamas, if you choose. Isn't that all right,
Whittenden? Good night, Ramsdell." Then, as Ramsdell vanished, Reed
settled himself with a little sigh. "It's a fearsome responsibility,
Whittenden," he said; "to win this sort of sheep-dog devotion.
Ramsdell, on my grilly days, would like nothing better than to stand
and let me shy things at his head. It is beautiful; but it gets a
trifle sultry. A little downright cussedness helps to clear the air
occasionally; but cussed is the one thing Ramsdell isn't. I suppose it
is because he is the product of the ages; it goes with his misplaced
aspirates."

Whittenden struck a match.

"The sheep-dog thing is worth the having, though. Best hang on to it,
Reed. It doesn't come to most of us too often."

Opdyke eyed him rather mirthfully.

"What's the matter, man?" he queried. "Did your own sheep dog growl at
you, this afternoon?"

"Mine?"

"Brenton. He counts you as the great formative influence of his life,
and adores you accordingly."

"Not now. I knew he had been through the phase, Opdyke. In fact, I had
rather counted on its lasting; but it hasn't."

"From which I infer that he showed his teeth, to-day. What was the
matter? Did you try to stroke his head, and accidentally hit him on the
raw?"

"Not consciously. It's only that I've lost all my helpful grip on him."

"How do you know?"

"Because--to carry out your sheep-dog metaphor which, in reality,
doesn't fit the case at all, Opdyke--he put his paw in mine, and then
growled at me when I shook it."

"I'm not so much surprised. Brenton has been on his nerves lately. I
can't just see why, though."

"Has he talked to you, Opdyke?"

"Good Lord, yes! A man on his nerves is bound to talk to something,
whether it's a responsible person like yourself, or a mere bedpost like
me. It's the talking that's the main thing, the sense of exhilaration
that comes with the discussion of depressing personalities. We're all
alike, every man of us, Whittenden. Didn't I take my turn, last night?"

"That's different."

"Not a bit. Spi