"But I suppose you ought." Harry tried to be grave, and chuckled again. "You'd look it uncommon well, you know. You'd soon develop the figure. Old Jack never has--doesn't look as if his own steaks did him any good. But you--we'd send you to Smithfield in no time!" "What are you two talking about?" asked Vivien suddenly. "Oh, there you are at last! Why, the funniest thing! Old Andy here wants to be a butcher." "I don't want--" Andy began. "A butcher! What nonsense you do talk sometimes, Harry!" She stood by Harry's side, so happy in him, so friendly to Andy. "Fact!" said Harry, and acquainted her with the situation. Vivien blushed red. "I--I'm very sorry I said what--what I did to you. You remember?" "Oh yes, I remember," said Andy. "Of course I--I never knew--I never thought--Of course, somebody must--Oh, do forgive me, Mr. Hayes!" Harry raised his brows in humorous astonishment. "All this is a secret to me." "I--I told Mr. Hayes I didn't like--well--places where they sold meat--raw meat, Harry." "What do you think really, Harry?" Andy asked. Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Your choice, old man," he said. "You've looked at all sides of it, of course. It's getting latish, Vivien." Andy would almost rather have had the verdict which he feared. "Your choice, old man"--and a shrug of the shoulders. Yet his loyalty intervened to tell him that Harry was right. It was his choice, and must be. He found Vivien's eyes on him--those distant, considering eyes. "I suppose you couldn't give me an opinion, Miss Wellgood?" he asked, mustering a smile with some difficulty. Vivien's lips drooped; her eyes grew rather sad and distinctly remote. She gave no judgment; she merely uttered a regret--a regret in which social and personal prejudice (it could not be acquitted of that) struggled with kindliness for Andy. "Oh, I thought you were going to be a friend of ours," she murmured sadly. She gave Andy a mournful little nod of farewell--of final farewell, as it seemed to his agitated mind--and walked off with Harry, who was still looking decidedly amused. That our great crises can have an amusing side even in the eyes of those who wish us well is one of life's painful discoveries. Andy had expected to be told that he must accept Jack Rock's offer, but he had not thought that Harry would chaff him about it. He tried, in justice to Harry and in anxiety not to feel sore with his hero, to see the humorous side for himself. He admitted that he could not. A butcher was no more ridiculous than any other tradesman. Well, the comic papers were rather fond of putting in butchers, for some inscrutable reason. Perhaps Harry happened to think of some funny picture. Could that idea give Andy a rag of comfort to wrap about his wound? The comfort was of indifferent quality; the dressing made the wound smart.