own and wear a decent coat again and the bits
of gaudy jewelry in which he used so to delight.

The old man hurried down the garden-walk now to meet him, and wrung his
hand heartily: "Bruce! is it possible? You have not crossed my threshold
since the old Epictetus days."

"No, and I interrupt you now? You are going out? I only called for a few
words on business."

"Plenty of time, plenty of time! My little girl and I were going to run
down to the shore to vagabondize for a day.--Jane, this is my old friend
Mr. Neckart.--We have plenty of time in which to catch the train. Sit
down, Bruce."

Mr. Neckart did not sit down, however. He found some difficulty now in
putting his business into a few concise words. He had heard Laidley's
avowal the night before that he proposed to leave the captain penniless.
All his boyish regard for the old man woke in force. His boyish feelings
were apt to waken and clog Mr. Neckart's strait-lined path to success. He
did not sentimentalize about his old teacher, but he set aside half an
hour in which to look in on him and see what could be done for him.
Anything could be done in half an hour by a man who chose to work hard
enough.

He expected to find the captain totally disheartened by this blow, but
here he was making ready for a day's fooling on the beach; for the
captain, finding that his visitor did not promptly broach the subject of
his errand, went on with his preparations.

So it happened that they fell into a brief silence. The old man by the
fire screwed his rod as though rods were the business of life: the young
girl sat by the window, a white-covered lunch-basket on the floor beside
her, sewing strings on a wide-rimmed hat which she meant to wear. Her
yellow hair was bound loosely about her head, fastened by a band of black
velvet: it made a faint shadow about the calm, delicate face. The dog sat
at her feet, his head on her knee, watching her intently. She took her
stitches slowly and with care, stopping now and then to put her hand on
Bruno's muzzle and nod at him significantly about the fun they were going
to have presently. It was a quiet, pretty picture.

Now, silence or leisurely calm of any kind was rare in Mr. Neckart's daily
life. He was the controller of a great journal: he was a leading
politician. He had been making his own way, and dragging and goading
slower men along, since he had left his cradle. Even his own party found
the indomitable energy of this dwarfi