“Well, I suppose a gent never gets a passion; I’d a perfect passion for fishin’. Never missed Sunday, wet or fine. That’s why I learned this carvin’--must ’ave an ’obby to go on with. Are you goin’ to write your ’istory? Am I wrong, or did you shake your ’ead?” “I did. My hobby is watching the show go by.” “That might ’ave suited me at one time--always liked to see the river flowin’ down. I’m a bit of a philosopher myself. You ain’t, I should say.” “Why not?” “Well, I’ve a fancy you want life to come to heel too much--misfortune of bein’ a gent, perhaps. Am I right?” Late--299 closed the book and rose. “Pride!” he said. “Ah!” said the blind man, groping with his eyes, “that’s meat and drink to you. Thought as much. Come again, if I don’t worry you.” “And take you fishing?” “Reelly? You will? Shake ’ands.” Late--299 put out his hand. The blind man’s groped up and found it.... 5 § “Wednesday again, is it, partner, if I’m not troublin’ you?” “Wednesday it is.” At the door of his house, with the ‘catch’ in a straw bag, the blind man stood a minute listening to his partner’s footsteps, then felt his way in to his horsehair sofa under the pampas grass. Putting his cold feet up under the rug, he heaved a sigh of satisfaction, and fell asleep. Between the bare acacias and lilac-bushes of the little villas Late--299 passed on. Entering his house, he sought his study, and stretched his feet towards the fire, and the cat, smelling him fishy, sprang on to his knee. “Philip, may I come in?” “You may.” “The servants have given notice. I wanted to say, wouldn’t you like to give this up and go abroad with me?” “Why this sudden sacrifice?” “Oh, Philip! You make it so hard for me. What do you really want me to do?” “Take half my income, and go away.” “What will you do, here, alone?” “Get me a char. The cat and I love chars.” “Philip!” “Yes?” “Won’t you tell me what’s in your heart? Do you want always to be lonely like this?” Late--299 looked up. “Reality means nothing to those who haven’t lived with it. I do.” “But why?” “My dear Bertha--that is your name, I think?” “Oh, God! You _are_ terrible!” “What would you have me--a whining worm? Crawling to people I despise--squirming from false position to false position? Do you want humility; what is it you want?” “I want you to be human.” “Then you want what you have got. I _am_ so human that I’ll see the world damned before I take its pity, or eat its salt. Leave me alone. I am content.” “Is there nothing I can do?” “Yes; stand out of my firelight....” 6 § Two figures, in the dark outside, before the uncurtained window. “Look, Mabel!” “Be careful! He may see. Whisper!” “The window’s shut.” “Oh, why doesn’t he draw the blinds--if he must sit like that?” “‘_A desert dark without a sound...._ _And not a drop to eat or drink_ _And a dark desert all around!_’ Jack, I pity him.”