It was my privilege, more frequently at this particular point of his career than ever before, to see Mr. Trimblerigg take his bath; a function which, so far as his wife and the outside world knew, took place every morning of his life. It is more accurate to say that he went to the bathroom every morning, and that every morning, to anyone who cared to listen, the sounds of a bath being taken came through the door. Mr. Trimblerigg had committed himself to the bath-habit with characteristic enthusiasm from the day when, with enlarged means, he found himself in a house containing a bathroom. But the house did not--in the first instance at any rate--contain a hot-water system; except on occasions of special preparation the baths remained cold. But Mr. Trimblerigg’s tenancy began in the summer quarter, when cold baths are almost as much a pleasure as a virtue. He was young, robust, vigorous, a preacher of the strenuous life; and facilities for the daily cold bath having come his way, he first boldly proclaimed his faith, and then got into it. His faith carried him on, even when colder weather made it a trial; and often it was beautiful to see, after a timid bird-like hovering on the brink, how boldly he would plunge in, and with pantings and rapid spongings cross the rubicon of agony which leads to the healthy glow of a stimulated circulation. On these occasions he would be very proud of himself, and standing before the glass gaze with approval on the ruddy blush which suffused his body and limbs under the hard rubbings of the towel. But a day came when he quailed and could not bring himself to get in at all; for the bath-habit was not in his blood as it is in the blood of those who have had a public-school training. The hill-side-chapel clan from which he sprang bathed only on the day of its baptism, or medicinally at the order of a doctor; and early habit, or the lack of it, counts with people as they grow older. So now there was controversy between Mr. Trimblerigg and his bath. He tried it first with his hand, then with his foot: then he drew a breath and said ‘Brrrr!’ loudly and resolutely, and continued saying it as he drove the water up and down the bath with his sponge. He splashed it artfully across the wooden splash-board, and down on to the floor; he dipped his feet and made wet marks on the bath-mat, and all the while he spluttered and panted, and at intervals stirred the bath-water to and fro, and round and round with his sponge. Then he stood in front of the glass and rubbed himself hard with his towel until he felt quite warm, until his body glowed with a similar glow to that which followed an actual bathing. And, as he did so, he looked at himself roguishly in the glass; and shaking his head at himself--‘Naughty boy!’ he said. He was quite frank about it--to himself; and when he had done the same trick several times, as the mornings remained cold, he gave himself what he called ‘a good talking to.’