"Yes," he agreed, "I suppose I am. But in the end it was not the comforters but events that pulled Job up. Await events with resignation and expectancy, Randolph, my lad, and play the game. Stake your coin and wait until the wheel stops and see what happens." "A fine teacher you are!" I laughed at him, albeit mirthlessly. "No good at all," he assented cheerfully, knocking his pipe against the ash tray and pocketing the noisome thing. "And didn’t I chuck teaching the minute events made it possible? Events, my boy; they are the teacher and the deities to tie to. Set up a little altar to the great god Event—right here in your perfumed little temple. That’s what I should do," he concluded, muttering into his beard. "Incidentally," he added, "I’m getting extraordinarily hungry." "Oh, sorry," I murmured. "Glad you’re here to eat with me, anyway. It enables me to put off breaking the news of my coming marriage to Griselda." "What—you haven’t told her yet?" shouted Dibdin, sitting up in his chair. "That fine, upright Highland lassie? Then you’re no disciple of mine! Face things with courage and face ’em fairly, Randolph. Go and tell her now! I’ll wait here with my highly moral support." "I—I can’t," I blurted miserably. "Yes, you can," he insisted with obstinacy. "Go and do it now." With a gesture of desperation I pressed the bell. "If I am going to tell her anything," I mumbled between my teeth, "I’ll say it right here." Dibdin laughed ghoulishly. "This cowardice—this shrinking from life," he philosophized detestably—"that’s what our kind of education brings about." Griselda appeared at the door. "You rang, Mr. Randolph." "Yes—er—yes, Griselda," and I felt myself idiotically hot and flushed. "I wanted to say—" and beads of perspiration prickled my forehead. Then in desperation, I stammered out, "Mr. Dibdin, Griselda—he is dining here to-night—that’s all, Griselda!" Dibdin’s laugh rattled throatily in the room. How I hated him at that moment! Griselda swept us with an impenetrable glance. "There is a place laid for him," she uttered in the tone of one whose patience is a sternly acquired virtue. And she left us. "Better strip, my lad," chuckled Dibdin, "and put on your wrestling trunks." "What d’you mean?" I demanded sulkily. "The tussle that life is going to give you will be a caution." "A lot you know about life!"