"Soaking wet," he said, as if to them. "I swear this weather would
ruin a Tapley temper! For two weeks rain and sleet and snow and
steam heat to come home to. Hello, General! How are the legs
tonight, old man?" Stooping, he patted softly the big, beautiful
collie which was trying to welcome him, and gently he lifted the
dog's head and looked in the patient eyes.

"No better? Not even a little bit? I'd take half if I could,
General, more than half. It's hard luck, but it's worse not to know
what to do for you." He turned his head from the beseeching eyes.
"For the love of heaven don't look at me like that, General, don't
make it--" His breath was drawn in sharply; then, as the dog made
effort to bark, to raise his right paw in greeting as of old, he put
it down carefully, rang the bell, walked over to the window, and for
a moment looked out on the street below.

The gray dullness of a late November afternoon was in the air of New
York, and the fast-falling snowflakes so thickened it that the people
hurrying this way and that seemed twisted figures of fantastic
shapes, wind-blown and bent, and with a shiver Laine came back and
again stood by General's side.

At the door Moses, his man, waited. Laine turned toward him. "Get
out some dry clothes and see what's the matter with the heat. A
blind man coming in here would think he'd struck an ice-pond." He
looked around and then at the darkey in front of him. "The Lord gave
you a head for the purpose of using it, Moses, but you mistake it at
times for an ornament. Zero weather and windows down from the top
twelve inches! Has General been in here to-day?"