some potatoes, a gun and an axe; he knew a lake captain, an old friend,
who would readily take him on his schooner on its next trip and land him
on his possessions. But the pork and the flour and the other necessaries
would cost money; how was he to get it? The difficulty did not
discourage him. The plan gave him something definite to do. He resolved
to swallow all pride, and make a last appeal for a loan from some of
those he dreaded to meet again. Surely he could raise among his friends
the small sum he needed, and then he would go into the woods. Maybe his
head and heart would clear there, and he would some day return to the
world like the conventional giant refreshed with new wine.

It is astonishing how a fixed resolution, however grotesque, helps a
man. The very fact that in his own mind the die was cast brought a new
recklessness to George Henry. He could look at things objectively again.
He slept well for the first time in many weeks.

The next morning, when George Henry awoke, he had abated not one jot of
his resolve nor of his increased courage. The sun seemed brighter than
it had been the day before, and the air had more oxygen to the cubic
foot. He looked at the heap of unopened letters on his desk--letters he
had lacked, for weeks, the moral courage to open--and laughed at his
fear of duns. Let the wolf howl! He would interest himself in the music.
He would be a hero of heroes, and unflinchingly open his letters, each
one a horror in itself to his imagination; but with all his newly found
courage, it required still an effort for George Henry to approach his
desk.

Alone, with set teeth and drooping eyes, George Henry began his task. It
was the old, old story. Bills of long standing, threats of suits,
letters from collecting agencies, red papers, blue, cream and