“The fact is, you must know--or perhaps you _do_ know--that I’ve been making an arrant fool of myself. I don’t know how it was that I didn’t see it before, but I see it now with a clearness that’s positively appalling.” He sat down, and leaned forward on his elbows with clasped hands and an expression of utter hopelessness. Amos waited in respectful silence, and presently Rees continued-- “First of all, my poor father’s dead. He died of heart disease this afternoon, and that was the news that greeted me when I returned home this evening, after receiving the greatest blow to my feelings--to my vanity, if you like--that I’ve ever had to put up with.” “Poor boy!” murmured Amos compassionately. “Secondly, we are ‘broke,’ absolutely without the pounds, shillings, and pence necessary to pay for bread and butter, coals and candles, let alone such extras as rent and clothing. That’s pretty bad, isn’t it? But worse remains behind.” He was trying to recover his old bright manner, and to face his difficulties with some appearance of courage. “For I have the satisfaction of knowing that it’s my own fault that I am not to-day in possession of prospects of supporting my family in a much more comfortable manner than before. That’s not exactly a comfortable frame of mind, is it?” “Why, no, I’m afraid it is not. But surely you exaggerate----” “Not a bit of it. And you’ve only heard about half. The last and worst point is that I’ve quarrelled with my best friend, and in such a manner that even the most grovelling apology would scarcely put me right with him again.” Goodhare had listened with his head half turned away, in the attitude of deep attention, to his young friend’s recital; the glow of satisfaction in his eyes as each misfortune was named thus escaped his hearer’s observation. But when he heard the last, the crowning source of distress, Amos, old as he was, could only conceal the passionate, evil joy he felt by an abrupt change of position. Rising hastily, as if overcome by the sad intelligence, he went to the window and looked out into the little stony street, while visions of ill-gotten gold floated before his eyes, and sounds of the boisterous revelry, for which his corrupt soul hankered in age as it had hankered in youth, made hideous but welcome music in his ears. It was with a start he turned, as his companion’s voice broke in upon his reverie. “Well, what do you think of my position now?” Amos had to think a moment before he spoke. For in the glowing picture he had conjured up, the poor tool had been forgotten. Then, with measured steps, he crossed the little room, and sat down by Rees. “Tell me,” he said sympathetically, “if you will so far honor me with your confidence, how this disastrous state of things came about.”