"I should think it's an excellent idea," Lea said. Mr. Polehampton glanced at him suspiciously, then turned to me. "You see," he began to explain, "one has to be _so_ careful about these things." "Oh, I can quite understand," I answered. There was something so naïve in the man's point of view that I had felt my heart go out to him. And he had taught me at last how it is that the godly grow fat at the expense of the unrighteous. Mr. Polehampton, however, was not fat. He was even rather thin, and his peaked grey hair, though it was actually well brushed, looked as if it ought not to have been. He had even an anxious expression. People said he speculated in some stock or other, and I should say they were right. "I ... eh ... believe I published your first book ... I lost money by it, but I can assure you that I bear no grudge--almost a hundred pounds. I bear no grudge...." The man was an original. He had no idea that I might feel insulted; indeed, he really wanted to be pleasant, and condescending, and forgiving. I didn't feel insulted. He was too big for his clothes, gave that impression at least, and he wore black kid gloves. Moreover, his eyes never left the cornice of the room. I saw him rather often after that night, but never without his gloves and never with his eyes lowered. "And ... eh ..." he asked, "what are you doing now, Mr. Granger?" Lea told him Fox had taken me up; that I was going to go. I suddenly remembered it was said of Fox that everyone he took up did "go." The fact was obviously patent to Mr. Polehampton. He unbent with remarkable suddenness; it reminded me of the abrupt closing of a stiff umbrella. He became distinctly and crudely cordial--hoped that we should work together again; once more reminded me that he had published my first book (the words had a different savour now), and was enchanted to discover that we were neighbours in Sussex. My cottage was within four miles of his villa, and we were members of the same golf club. "We must have a game--several games," he said. He struck me as the sort of man to find a difficulty in getting anyone to play with him. After that he went away. As I had said, I did not dislike him--he was pathetic; but his tone of mind, his sudden change of front, unnerved me. It proved so absolutely that I was "going to go," and I did not want to go--in that sense. The thing is a little difficult to explain, I wanted to take the job because I wanted to have money--for a little time, for a year or so, but if I once began to go, the temptation would be strong to keep on going, and I was by no means sure that I should be able to resist the temptation. So many others had failed. What if I wrote to Fox, and resigned?... Lea was deep in a manuscript once more. "Shall I throw it up?" I asked suddenly. I wanted the thing settled. "Oh, go on with it, by all means go on with it," Lea answered. "And ...?" I postulated. "Take your chance of the rest," he supplied; "you've had a pretty bad time."