When I got out and we looked each other in the face he smiled and my lips quivered. “Old chap,” I said, “draw your cab up on that stand and get in with me.” When we were sitting together in his cab we lighted cigarettes and didn’t speak for quite a minute, till I burst out: “Look here! What does this mean?” “Bread and butter.” “Good God! And this is what the country----” “Bartlet,” he said, through curiously set lips with a little fixed smile about the corners, “cut out all that about the country. I prefer this to any more cadging for a job; that’s all.” Silent from shame, I broke out at last: “It’s the limit! What about the Government schemes?” “No go! All for younger men.” “My dear chap!” was the only thing I could find to say. “This isn’t a bad life in good weather,” he went on with that queer smile; “I’ve still got gassy lungs.” “Do you mean to say you contemplate going on with this?” “Till something turns up; but I’m no good at asking for things, Bartlet; I simply can’t do it.” “What about your people?” “Dead or broke.” “Come and stay with me till your ship comes home.” He squeezed my arm and shook his head. That’s what’s so queer about gentility! If only I could have established a blood tie! Ruding would have taken help or support from his kinsfolk--would have inherited without a qualm from a second cousin that he’d never seen; but from the rest of the world it would be charity. Sitting in that cab of his, he told me, without bitterness, the tale which is that of hundreds since the war. Ruding could not be pitied to his face, it would have been impossible. And when he had finished I could only mutter: “Well, I think it’s damnable, considering what the country owes you.” He did not answer. Whatever his limitations Miles Ruding was bred to keep his form. I nearly shook his hand off when I left him, and I could see that he disliked that excessive display of feeling. From my club doorway I saw him resume his driver’s seat, the cigarette still between his lips, and the lamplight shining on his lean profile. Very still he sat--symbol of that lost cause, gentility. 1920. A HEDONIST Rupert K. Vaness remains freshly in my mind because he was so fine and large, and because he summed up in his person and behaviour a philosophy which, budding before the war, hibernated during that distressing epoch, and is now again in bloom.