an allegiance
that he had had to share with Maddox and his gang. But now that
Rickman was once more exclusively, indisputably his, he was in honour
bound to cherish and protect him. (Jewdwine was frequently visited by
these wakenings of the feudal instinct that slept secretly in his
blood.) If he could not make up to Rickman for the loss of the
proposed editorship, he saw to it that he was kept well supplied with
lucrative work on his own paper. As an even stronger proof of his
esteem he allowed him for the first time a certain authority, and an
unfettered hand.

For six months Rickman luxuriated in power and increase of leisure and
of pay. If the pay was insufficient to cover all his losses the
leisure was invaluable; it enabled him to get on with his tragedy.

Now if Rickman had been prudent he would have finished his tragedy
then and there and got it published in all haste. For there is no
doubt that if any work of his had been given to the world any time
within those six months, Jewdwine would have declared the faith that
was in him. Whatever the merits of the work he would have celebrated
its appearance by a sounding Feast of Trumpets in _Metropolis_. He
would have done anything to strengthen the tie that attached him to
the sources of his spiritual content. But Rickman was not prudent. He
let the golden hours slip by while he sat polishing up his blank verse
as if he had all eternity before him.

Meanwhile he did all he could for Jewdwine. Jewdwine indeed could not
have done a better thing for himself than in giving Rickman that free
hand. In six months there was a marked improvement in the tone of
_Metropolis_ and the reputation of its editor, and, but for the
unexpected which is always happening, Jewdwine might in the long run
have emerged without a stain.

Nothing in fact could have been more utterly unforeseen, and yet, in
reviewing all the steps which led to the ultimate catastrophe, Rickman
said to himself that nothing would have been more consistent and
inevitable. It came about first of all through a freak, a wanton freak
of Fate in the form of a beardless poet, a discovery, not of
Jewdwine's nor of Rickman's but of Miss Roots'. That Miss Roots could
make a discovery clearly indicated the finger of fate. Miss Roots
promptly asked Rickman to dinner and presented to him the discovery,
beardless, breathless also and hectic, wearing an unclean shirt and a
suit of frayed shoddy.

He came away from that d