“The Dead Sea waters are noisome,” he said; “and I have been drinking of them by long draughts.” “Long draughts!” I answered, thinking to console him. “Draughts have not been long which can have been swallowed in your years. Your disease may be acute, but it cannot yet have become chronic. A man always thinks at the moment of each misfortune that that special misery will last his lifetime; but God is too good for that. I do not know what ails you; but this day twelvemonth will see you again as sound as a roach.” We then sat silent for a while, during which I was puffing at a cigar. Smith, among his accomplishments, did not reckon that of smoking,—which was a grief to me; for a man enjoys the tobacco doubly when another is enjoying it with him. “No, you do not know what ails me,” he said at last, “and, therefore, cannot judge.” “Perhaps not, my dear fellow. But my experience tells me that early wounds are generally capable of cure; and, therefore, I surmise that yours may be so. The heart at your time of life is not worn out, and has strength and soundness left wherewith to throw off its maladies. I hope it may be so with you.” “God knows. I do not mean to say that there are none more to be pitied than I am; but at the present moment, I am not—not light-hearted.” “I wish I could ease your burden, my dear fellow.” “It is most preposterous in me thus to force myself upon you, and then trouble you with my cares. But I had been alone so long, and I was so weary of it!” “By Jove, and so had I. Make no apology. And let me tell you this,—though perhaps you will not credit me,—that I would sooner laugh with a comrade than cry with him is true enough; but, if occasion demands, I can do the latter also.” He then put out his hand to me, and I pressed it in token of my friendship. My own hand was hot and rough with the heat and sand; but his was soft and cool almost as a woman’s. I thoroughly hate an effeminate man; but, in spite of a certain womanly softness about this fellow, I could not hate him. “Yes,” I continued, “though somewhat unused to the melting mood, I also sometimes give forth my medicinal gums. I don’t want to ask you any questions, and, as a rule, I hate to be told secrets, but if I can be of any service to you in any matter I will do my best. I don’t say this with reference to the present moment, but think of it before we part.” I looked round at him and saw that he was in tears. “I know that you will think that I am a weak fool,” he said, pressing his handkerchief to his eyes. “By no means. There are moments in a man’s life when it becomes him to weep like a woman; but the older he grows the more seldom those moments come to him. As far as I can see of men, they never cry at that which disgraces them.” “It is left for women to do that,” he answered.