“Eh! What about it with other people, then?” “They can look at me without my seeing them.” “I see! Misanthropical. Any reason for that?” “Prison.” “What oh! Outcast and rejected of men.” “No. The other way on.” The blind man ceased to whittle and scoop. “I like independence,” he said; “I like a man that can go his own way. Ever noticed cats? Men are like dogs, mostly; only once in a way you get a man that’s like a cat. What _were_ you, if it’s not a rude question. In the taxes?” “Medico.” “What’s a good thing for ’eartburn?” “Which kind?” “Wind, ain’t it? But I see your meanin’. Losin’ my sight used to burn my ’eart a lot; but I got over that. What’s the use? You couldn’t have any worse misfortune. It gives you a feelin’ of bein’ insured--like.” “You’re right,” said Late--299, rising to go. The blind man lifted his face in unison. “Got your smile on?” he said. “Just let me ’ave another feel at it, will you?” Late--299 bent to the outstretched fingers. “Yes,” said the blind man, “same with you--touched bottom. Next time you come I’ll ’ave something on show that’ll please you, I think; and thank you for readin’.” “Let me know if it bores you.” “I will,” said the blind man, following without movement the footsteps of his visitor that died away. 3 § Christmas night--wild and windy, a shower spattering down in the street; Late--299 walking two yards before his wife, their son walking two yards behind his mother. A light figure, furred to the ears, in a doorway watching for them. “Come along, darling. Sorry we had to bring him.” “Of course you had to, Jack!” “Look! He can’t even walk with mother. It’s a disease. He went to church to-day, and all through the sermon never took his eyes off--the poor old vicar nearly broke down.” “What was it about?” “Brotherly love. Mother says he doesn’t mean it--but it’s like--what’s that thing that stares?” “A basilisk. I’ve been trying to put myself in his place, Jack. He must have swallowed blood and tears in there--ordered about like a dog, by common men, for three years nearly. If you don’t go under, you must become inhuman. This is better than if he’d come out crawling.” “Perhaps. Look out--the rain! I’ll turn your hood up, darling.” A spattering shower, the whispering hushed.... A lighted open doorway, a red hall, a bunch of hanging mistletoe, a girl beneath, with bushy hair. “Happy Christmas, Father!” “Thanks. Do you want to be kissed?” “As you like. Well, Mother darling! Hallo, you two! Come in! Roddy, take father’s coat.” “How are you, sir? Beastly weather!” “That was the advantage we had in prison. Weather never troubled us. ‘Peace and Goodwill’ in holly-berries! Very neat! They used to stick them up in there. Christianity is a really remarkable fraud, don’t you think?” ... Once again those four in the street; and the bells chiming for midnight service. “What an evening!” “Let them get out of hearing, Jack.”