t, and had no opinions about
anything, and no interest in anything. Somebody picked him up and set
him on somebody else's knee, where he was sponged and fanned. There was
a faint suggestion in his mind to the effect that somebody, somewhere,
had a shocking headache. Then he knew that one or two men were roughly
helping him to dress. He himself mechanically aided this work, and
by-and-by found himself watching a new encounter, aware by this time
that the headache was his own. He handled nose, and upper-lip, and eye
delicately, and came to the conclusion that he presented a picture to
the gaze of man. Then, gradually pulling himself together, he watched
the business of the day with tranquil interest.

Four had had it out with four, and then two with two; and now the
survivors of the match were engaged for the final prize of honour. Each
man had fought twice already, and they were both too tired to do much
execution upon each other; but at last Paul's late antagonist won, and
the simple game was over. The man in the rabbit-skin waistcoat thanked
Paul for having preserved the symmetry of the day.

'Eight's a shapely little handful,' this authority said. 'It's the pick
of the basket for a number, eight is. Sixteen's on-widdy, and it knocks
a hole in a long summer's day. Four's a flash in the pan; but eight's a
pretty little number.' He added genially: 'We'm all very much obliged to
you, young man.'

'Oh,' said Paul, 'I like to be neighbourly.'

The muscles of his face were stiffening, and his inclination to laugh
cost him a twinge.

The man in the rabbit-skin waistcoat said his sentiment did him credit,
and shook hands with him on the strength of it. The crowd went away as
it had come, and left him where it found him. He was not going to walk
home in broad daylight with such a visage as he carried. He paced about
the trampled hollow to keep his blood in circulation, and in a little
while the friendly darkness began to gather. Then he set out for home
at leisure, choosing unlighted ways; and after a circuitous journey,
climbed a gate and a garden wall or two, and landed at the office. There
he made his toilet with the aid of a piece of yellow soap, a bucket of
water, and a jack-towel, and then walked down the darkened garden to
the house. He paced the paved yard on tiptoe, and peeping through the
kitchen-window, saw his father seated alone at the fireside Armstrong
looked up with his customary mild, abstracted gaze.

'