hen he went back into civilization, and travelled on to San Francisco,
and the western parts of Canada. And one day at Victoria, having
nothing better before him, he wandered on board a vessel which in
four-and-twenty hours from that time was bound to sail for Japan. He
took lunch with the proprietors and officers of this boat, and, almost
before he knew it, had booked his passage for Yokohama. Why not see the
world?

There were ladies aboard, and they flirted with the stranger because he
was young and already famous, and more than average good-looking. They
flirted demurely, and they flirted fiercely, and they flirted in all the
ways which are known to women; but for once in feminine experience they
met a man who was proof against all their charms, charmed they never
so wisely. To be dangerous to man's peace of mind a woman must inspire
belief, and in Paul's heart belief was dead.

The ship went on to New Zealand, her port of call Dunedin. Why not
New Zealand? Why not see the world? More flirts aboard, and more
flirtations, but still the hitherto so susceptible heart unmoved. The
next port of call Hobart Town, then Melbourne. Still, why not see the
world? More flirts and more flirtations, as if there were nothing but
the rustle of a petticoat which is worth taking notice of on the surface
of the planet. But observe that the young man is spoiled, at least for
the time being.

Possum and kangaroo shooting make good sport. Rabbits swarm in literal
millions. We grow very handy with the gun, very handy at building a
shelter of any sort, or at cooking a dinner.

Then back to New Zealand, and here the beginning of a new life.

New Year's Eve, as it happens, and the exile's mind not unnaturally
filled with thoughts of home. And tucked away in the further corner of
the dining-room of the Grand Hotel the familiar figure of an English
comedian! who, when Paul last saw him, was playing in a piece written
far himself and Darco.

'Hillo, Paul! Can't I get into any blooming corner of the world but
some old pal is bound to root me out?' 'How's trade?' said Paul. 'Going
strong?' 'Bad, dear boy,' the comedian answered. 'Bad as bad can be.
Do me a turn, old fellow. Write me a play. I've brought out three, and
they're all rotten failures. Ask the press, and they'll tell you
I'm coining money. Ask me, and I'll tell you I'm dropping it by the
barrelful. Been here long--eh?'

Paul was at the theatre again that night, for the first ti