sion. Drowning was not so difficult. Any fool could throw
himself into the water. With a view to the inspection of a suitable
spot, Doggie wandered, idly, in the dusk of one evening, to Waterloo
Bridge, and turning his back to the ceaseless traffic, leaned his
elbows on the parapet and stared in front of him. A few lights already
gleamed from Somerset House and the more dimly seen buildings of the
Temple. The dome of St. Paul's loomed a dark shadow through the mist.
The river stretched below very peaceful, very inviting. The parapet
would be easy to climb. He did not know whether he could dive in the
approved manner--hands joined over head. He had never learned to swim,
let alone dive. At any rate, he could fall off. In that art the
riding-school had proved him a past master. But the spot had its
disadvantages. It was too public. Perhaps other bridges might afford
more privacy. He would inspect them all. It would be something to do.
There was no hurry. As he was not wanted in this world, so he had no
assurance of being welcome in the next. He had a morbid vision of
avatar after avatar being kicked from sphere to sphere.

At this point of his reflections he became aware of a presence by his
side. He turned his head and found a soldier, an ordinary private,
very close to him, also leaning on the parapet.

"I thought I wasn't mistaken in Mr. Marmaduke Trevor."

Doggie started away, on the point of flight, dreading the possible
insolence of one of the men of his late regiment. But the voice of the
speaker rang in his ears with a strange familiarity, and the great
fleshy nose, the high cheek-bones, and the little grey eyes in the
weather-beaten face suggested vaguely some one of the long ago. His
dawning recognition amused the soldier.

"Yes, laddie. Ye're right. It's your old Phineas--Phineas McPhail,
Esq., M.A., defunct. Now 33702 Private P. McPhail redivivus."

He warmly wrung the hand of the semi-bewildered Doggie, who murmured:
"Very glad to meet you, I'm sure."

Phineas, gaunt and bony, took his arm.

"Would it not just be possible," he said, in his old half-pedantic,
half-ironic intonation, "to find a locality less exposed to the roar
of traffic and the rude jostling of pedestrians and the inclemency of
the elements, in which we can enjoy the amenities of a little refined
conversation?"

It was like a breath from the past. Doggie smiled.

"Which way are you going?"

"Your way, my dear Marmaduke, was ever m