I knew Learoyd only in the most casual way, and I had never been in his rooms in my life, so I should not have been disappointed if he had been out. I found him, however, sitting by himself, and my first impression was that he was either very sleepy or very sad, but whatever was the matter with him he could hardly have wanted to see me. He was good enough, however, to say he was glad that I had come. The conversation flagged for two or three minutes until he roused himself suddenly. "I have got the most vile attack of the blues to-night," he said, "and somehow or other I can't shake them off." He seized a decanter of whisky and began pouring some of it into a glass, and then I did one of those things which I do impulsively and which are occasionally right. I put my hand on his arm and said, "That stuff will only put them off until to-morrow morning." He looked at me for a moment and sat down again. "Why does every one preach to me?" he asked. "I shouldn't have thought you were that sort, though you are a friend of Dick Murray's." He was not angry, but just hopelessly tired of everything, and he looked so wretched that I felt really sorry for him. "I don't preach," I answered, "though if I could remember half the things which have been fired off at me they would make a mighty fine sermon. When people take any notice of me they think that I want looking after and they begin to do it, the others leave me alone and say that I shall come to a bad end." He was evidently feeling so miserable about everything that I thought he might like to hear these dismal prophecies about my future. I even thought they might cheer him up, and make him see that we were in the same boat. But I made a mistake, for he was annoyed at the idea that my future could possibly be as great a failure as his. "You wouldn't say these things if you really thought you were in a hopeless muddle. I have gone through it all this term, and I know. I have tried to laugh, and I have drunk until I didn't care what happened, but it is all no use. I have made a mess of everything, and there is no one to blame except myself. And then this utterly idiotic row comes on the top of everything." He sat looking in front of him, and did not seem to remember that I was in the room, and the thought passed through my mind that I should be glad to wring Dennison's neck. I asked him twice what row he was talking about before he spoke. "Hasn't Dennison told you?" he asked. "I left him about an hour ago, and he said he would go and see you. I thought that was what you had come here for, though of course nothing can be done." "I haven't seen Dennison," I said, and added, "I never do if I can help it," for Learoyd's statement that nothing could be done had given me no satisfaction.