Margaret caught sight of his back, and the pitiful little droop in the usually erect shoulders, and she divined like a flash, and called after him. He pretended not to hear and went on. In his pocket was the editor’s letter which he had designed to show her. It had lain down and died. “Why does that man hate me so?” said Manners. A little of the joy of meeting had gone. A cloud passed over the sun, and the earth was darkened. Many drops of rain began to fall, each making a distinct splash as it struck. One began to smell the disturbed dust. But the flowers continued to send up their incense to heaven, and Manners put his light overcoat about Margaret. XI Aladdin had a large acquaintance in the town among all sorts of men, and, as he went home sorrowfully in the rain, he met a youth, older than himself, who had an evil notoriety; for being born with brains, of respectable people, and propitiously launched on the world, he had begun in his early teens, and in the face of the most heartrending solicitude, to drink himself to death. The miserable part of it was that everybody loved him when he was sober, and out of consideration to his family still asked him to the best that the town could do in the way of parties and entertainments. He was a good-looking young man with a big frame and a pale face. His real name was William Addison Larch, but he was better known as “Beau Larch.” He had a nervous, engaging smile, of which he made frequent use. “My word, Aladdin,” he said, “you look sick as a dog. Come with me and take a snifter for it.” Aladdin hesitated a moment. And as soon as he had thoroughly made up his mind that it was wrong to say so, he said: “I believe I will.” The Celt in him was feeling suicidal. They went into the ground-floor room of a house where liquor was sold. “For me, whisky,” said Beau Larch. “The same for me,” said Aladdin, with something suspiciously like a gulp. The first drink which a man takes against his better judgment is a grisly epoch in his life. Aladdin realized this, and was at once miserable and willing that it should be so. “To those that love us!” said Beau Larch. Aladdin put down his liquor without grimace or gasp. Beau Larch paid. In Aladdin’s pocket were three dollars, the first mile-post on the steep road to his ideal. He felt, to be sure that they were there. “Now you ‘ll have one with me,” he said.