Max could not understand. He lay awake worrying himself about his
friend, feeling Dudley's fall more acutely than he would have felt his
own, and did not fall asleep until it was nearly daylight.

In these circumstances he overslept himself, and it was eleven o'clock
before he found himself in the hotel coffee-room, waiting for his
breakfast.

He was in the act of pouring out his coffee, when his name, uttered
behind him in a familiar voice, made him start. The next moment Dudley
Horne stood by his side, and holding out his hand with a smile, seated
himself on the chair beside him.

"I--I--I overslept myself this morning," stammered Max.

He was in a state of absolute bewilderment. Not only had the new Dudley
of the previous night disappeared, with his alternate depression and
feverish high spirits, his furtive glances, his hoarse and altered
voice, but the old Dudley, who had returned, seemed happier and livelier
than usual.

"Town and its wicked ways don't agree with you, my boy, nor do they with
me. If I were in your shoes, I shouldn't tread the streets of Babylon
more than once a twelvemonth."

"You think that now," returned Max, "because you see more than enough of
town."

"Well, I'm not going to see much more of it at present," retorted