It was a wearisome, comfortless night for the two Englishmen. The cold was intense, and the want of food rendered them the less able to bear it. Burroughs’ shoulder, too, gave him much pain, and became very stiff. During that long darkness the friends talked of many things--of old times, of recent experiences, of the future. Errington related the full story of his recovery of the flying boat; Burroughs in return told at greater length than he had done in the yamen the pilgrimage which Lo San had undertaken for his master. Errington said nothing to Lo San at the time; but he resolved to requite his servant’s devotion substantially if they got safe home. They discussed one matter about which Errington was troubled. His dismissal from the service of Ehrlich Söhne was in one sense a relief; he wished to have nothing more to do with Reinhardt, and remembering that the German held a cheque for three months’ salary, he was glad to think that here was a means of liquidating his debt. But he felt much depressed about the future. His late firm was of good standing, and to be dismissed by them for what Reinhardt called "irregularities" made him fear that other employers would hesitate to take him into their service. "That’s absolute rot," said Burroughs, when Errington spoke of his fears. "Nobody will think any the worse of you in the end. Making an ass of yourself----" "Rub it in!" interrupted Errington gloomily. "Well, we all do it some time or other; and making an ass of yourself isn’t a crime, or the prisons would be pretty full. There are plenty of firms as good as Ehrlich; if I didn’t know how touchy you are I’d suggest your joining us; the pater----" "Dry up! D’you think I’ll ask your governor for a crib when I’m a rank failure, a regular rotter? A pretty fine thing that ’ud be, in return for all his kindness!" "There you are! I knew that’s how you’d take it. A failure! Why, you’re no end better at business than I am. Everybody knows it. Look here, just shut down on those idiotic notions of yours. Chuck ’em away. A fellow that never made a mistake never made anything, somebody said. It’s jolly well true. Of course, if a fellow goes on making mistakes, can’t learn, hasn’t got the sense or the will-power to pull up, he is a rotter, and there’s no good disguising it. But many a juggins has turned out a jolly fine chap; in a year or two you’ll laugh at yourself, and----" "And thank my stars I had such a pal as the Mole, even if he does lecture a bit. Why didn’t you say all that and other things before?" "Well, you know--I--well, I suppose I was a juggins too, but you’d have shied a brick at my head if I had, wouldn’t you?" What more they said need not be told. That talk in the dead of night, under the silent stars, knit them closer together in a friendship which neither time nor circumstance will ever break asunder.