had said no, said it angrily when the doctor so suggested, and had
tried a new man, who was deceiving him.

"You are all I have, General"--his hand traveled softly up and down
the length of the dog's back--"and somewhere you must wait for me.
I've got to stay on and play the game, and it's to be played
straight, but when it's called I sha'n't be sorry."

From a box on a table close to him he took a cigar, lighted it, and
watched its spirals of smoke curl upward. Life and the smoke that
vanisheth had much in common. On the whole, he had no grievance
against life. If it was proving a rather wearisome affair it was
doubtless his own fault, and yet this finding of himself alone at
forty was hardly what he had intended. There was something actually
comic about it. That for which he had striven had been secured, but
for what? Success unshared is of all things ironic, and soon not
even General would be here to greet him when the day's work was done.
He blew out a thin thread of smoke and followed its curvings with
half-shut eyes. He had made money, made it honestly, and it had
brought him that which it brought others, but if this were all life
had to give--He threw his cigar away, and as General's soft breathing
reached him he clasped his hands at the back of his head and stared
up at the ceiling.

Why didn't he love his work as he used to? He had played fair, but
to play fair was to play against the odds, and there were times when
he hated the thing which made men fight as fiercely to-day as in the
days of the jungle, though they no longer sprang at each other's
throats. On the whole, he preferred the cavemen's method of attack.
They at least fought face to face. As for women--