chapter. They had a bedroom and a sitting-room in common, but it would
not be easy to find what else. To his landlady, worthy Mrs. Seacon, Tom
Peters's profession was a little vague, but everybody knew that Roxdal
was the manager of the City and Suburban Bank, and it puzzled her to
think why a bank manager should live with such a seedy-looking person,
who smoked clay pipes and sipped whiskey and water all the evening when
he was at home. For Roxdal was as spruce and erect as his fellow-lodger
was round-shouldered and shabby; he never smoked, and he confined
himself to a small glass of claret at dinner.

It is possible to live with a man and see very little of him. Where each
of the partners lives his own life in his own way, with his own circle
of friends and external amusements, days may go by without the men
having five minutes together. Perhaps this explains why these
partnerships jog along so much more peaceably than marriages, where the
chain is drawn so much tighter, and galls the partners rather than links
them. Diverse, however, as were the hours and habits of the chums, they
often breakfasted together, and they agreed in one thing--they never
stayed out at night. For the rest Peters sought his diversions in the
company of journalists, and frequented debating rooms, where he
propounded the most iconoclastic views; while Roxdal had highly
respectable houses open to him in the suburbs, and was, in fact, engaged
to be married to Clara Newell, the charming daughter of a retired corn
merchant, a widower with no other child.

[Illustration: ASKED TWENTY-FIVE PER CENT. MORE.]

Clara naturally took up a good deal of Roxdal's time, and he often
dressed to go to the play with her, while Peters stayed at home in a
faded dressing-gown and loose slippers. Mrs. Seacon liked to see