[Illustration: HALF A DOZEN TIMES A NIGHT OR OFTENER HE TRAVELLED
UNDER ESCORT THROUGH THE DINING ROOM]

Half a dozen times a night, or oftener, he travelled under escort
through the dining room, always returning again to his regular
station. Along about the middle of the week he began to fail visibly.
Before our eyes we saw him fading. Either the artificial life he was
leading or the strain of being turned down so often was telling upon
him. It preyed upon his mind, as we could discern by his morose
expression. It sapped his splendid vitality as well. No longer did he
expand his chest and wave his numerous extremities about when being
exhibited before the indifferent eyes of possible investors, but
remained inert, logy, gloomy, spiritless--a melancholy spectacle
indeed.

It now required artificial stimulation to induce him to display even a
temporary interest in his surroundings. With a practised finger, his
keeper would thump him on the tenderer portions of his stomach, and
then he would wake up; but it was only for a moment. He relapsed again
into his lamentable state of depression and languor. By every outward
sign here was a lobster that fain would withdraw from the world. But
we knew that for him there was no opportunity to do so; on the hoof he
represented too many precious francs to be allowed to go into
retirement.

Coming on Saturday night we realised that for our old friend the end
was nigh. His eyes were deeply set about two-thirds of the way back
toward his head and with one listless claw he picked at the serviette.
The summons was very near; the dread inevitable impended.