A MESSAGE FROM THE WHARF.


Christmas was over, and The Beeches had subsided into its normal state
of prosperous tranquility. Max had had a fresh situation discovered for
him, and he was now wasting his time on a stool in a merchant's office,
as he had wasted it in other offices many times before. His father's
chronic state of exasperation with his laziness was growing acute, and
he had informed Max that unless he chose to stick to his work this time
he would have to be shipped off to the Cape. No entreaties on the part
of Mrs. Wedmore or the girls were of any avail against this fixed
resolution on Mr. Wedmore's part, or against the inflexible laziness of
Max himself. He detested office work, and he confessed that if he was
not to be allowed to lead the country life he loved, he would prefer
enlistment in the Cape Mounted Police to drudgery in a dark corner of a
city office.

It was on a foggy evening in January that Max, for the first time in
three weeks (an unprecedented interval), knocked at the door of Dudley
Horne's chambers.

There was a long delay, and Max, after a second knock, was going to
withdraw, in the belief that Dudley was not in, after all, when he heard
slow steps within, and paused.

The door was opened a very little way, and Dudley looked out.

Max stared at him for a moment without speaking. For over his friend
there had passed some great change. Dudley had never been florid of
complexion, but now he looked ghastly. His face had always been grave