"That the family was going out--not to call."

When I told him it was a case of suicide, his jaw dropped.

"Can you beat it?" he said. "I ask you, can you beat it? A fellow
who had everything!"

But he was philosophical, too.

"A lot of people get the bug once in a while," he said. "They come
in here for a dose of sudden death, and it takes watching. You'd
be surprised the number of things that will do the trick if you take
enough. I don't know. If things get to breaking wrong--"

His voice trailed off, and he kicked at the old table cover on the
floor.

"It's a matter of the point of view," he said more cheerfully.
"And my point of view just now is that this place is darned cold,
and so's the street. You'd better have a little something to
warm you up before you go out, Mr. Johnson."

I was chilled through, to tell the truth, and although I rarely
drink anything I went back with him and took an ounce or two of
villainous whiskey, poured out of a jug into a graduated glass.
It is with deep humiliation of spirit I record that a housemaid
coming into my library at seven o'clock the next morning, found me,
in top hat and overcoat, asleep on the library couch.

I had, however, removed my collar and tie, and my watch, carefully