oulder surprised me. I looked up and saw Ward standing by my side.

"Sorry to wake you up," he said, "but I felt like coming to see you."
He saw the cheque made out to him, and taking it from the table he tore
it into bits.

"You have wasted a penny," I said, for I could not help guessing what
he meant.

"I don't want to take your money," he replied, "and for heaven's sake
don't make me."

He was most desperately in earnest, but the mere fact that I should
have taken his without a thought of returning it, settled the little
argument which followed.

"I can't help gambling," he said, "but I wish to goodness you wouldn't."

"But only a few days ago you sneered at me for not backing a horse," I
retorted, for though it was very good of him, I felt he was treating me
like an infant.

"I never asked you to," he said, "and I should like to have one friend
who doesn't bet or play cards or anything."

"There's Collier," I suggested.

"He is different," Ward answered, and I suppose I wanted him to say
something like that.

We talked for an hour, at least Ward talked and I listened, but during
the years to come I always remembered what he said about himself on
that night.

CHAPTER VII

THE INN AT SAMPFORD

I do not suppose that my waking thoughts could be called valuable, for
my habit is to lie in bed and wonder vaguely what time it is, and if
you start the day in that way and write it solemnly on paper you may
just as well keep a diary of what you had for luncheon and where you
had tea and all that kind of twaddle, which people write because
blotting paper is provided on the opposite page. But on the morning
following my conversation with Ward I woke up with the sort of feeling
which ought to have been of value to some one, because it was such a
mixture that I could not stay in bed. It was the kind of sensation
with which I wake when I am going to cross the Channel, only it did not
make me rush to my window to see how much wind there was. Nothing I
have been told is easier in this life than to make a mountain out of a
molehill, but in my short experience it is the wretched little
molehills which upset me and not the great big things which sweep me
away with them. I would rather have to fight one mountain than two
molehills any day, you get so much more sympathy after the struggle.
But I must admit that it is not always easy to tell when people will
sympathize with you, for I remember that my brother w