ighbour her nirvana of gin and
water; times when the gross steam of the stew prepared for the man
below awoke in him acute, intolerable emotion; times when the
spiritual will that dominated him, so far from being purified by
abstinence, seemed merged in the will of the body made conspicuous and
clamorous by hunger.

There were ways in which he might have satisfied it. He could have
obtained a square meal any day from Mrs. Downey or the Spinkses; but
now that the value of a square meal had increased so monstrously in
imagination, his delicacy shrank from approaching his friends with
conscious designs upon their hospitality. Spinks was always asking him
to dine at his house in Camden Town; but he had refused because he
would have had abominable suspicions of his own motives in accepting.
Trust Flossie to find him out too. And latterly he had hidden himself
from the eye of Spinks. There were moments now when he might have been
tempted to borrow fifty pounds from Spinks and end it; but he could
not bring himself to borrow from Flossie's husband. The last time he
had dined with them he thought she had looked at him as if she were
afraid he was going to borrow money. He knew it so well, that gleam of
the black eyes, half subtle and half savage. For Flossie had realized
her dream, and her little hand clung passionately to the purse that
provided for Muriel Maud. He couldn't borrow from Spinky. From
Jewdwine? Never. From Hanson? Hardly. From Vaughan? Possibly. Vaughan
was considering the expediency of publishing his tragedy, and might be
induced to advance him a little on account. Such possibilities visited
him in the watches of the night, but dawn revealed their obvious
futility. And yet he knew all the time he had only to go to Maddox
for the money, and he would get it. To Maddox or to Rankin, Rankin
whose books stood open on every bookstall, whose face in its beautiful
photogravure portrait smiled so impenetrably, guarding the secret of
success. But he could not go to them without giving them the
explanation he was determined not to give. He knew what they thought
of him; therefore he would not go to them. If they had known him
better they would have come to him.

He was reminded of them now by seeing in _The Planet_ an obituary
notice of young Paterson. Paterson had been dying slowly all the year,
and December finished him. Though Rickman had been expecting the news
for months, the death accomplished affected him profound