around the noisy glittering place, at the smart barmaids, the
well-clad throng of loungers, some in evening dress, the half-dozen
gorgeous ladies sitting with men at little tables by the window--
"I thinks as how you gets more real happiness in a quiet village
pub, and the beer is cheaper, and--gorblimey!"

He ran his finger between his stringy neck and the frayed stand-up
collar that would have sawn his head off but for the toughness of
his hide. To do Paul honour he had arrayed himself in his best--a
wondrously cut and heavily-braided morning coat and
lavender-coloured trousers of eccentric shape, and a funny little
billycock hat too small for him, and a thunder-and-lightning
necktie, all of which he had purchased nearly twenty years ago to
grace a certain, wedding a. which he had been best man. Since then
he had worn the Nessus shirt of a costume not more than half-a-dozen
times. The twisted, bright-eyed little man, so obviously ill at ease
in his amazing garb, and the beautiful youth, debonair in his
well-fitting blue serge, formed a queer contrast.

"Don't you never long for the wind of God and the smell of the
rain?" asked Barney Bill.

"I haven't the time," said Paul. "I'm busy all day long."

"Well, well," said Barney Bill, "the fellow wasn't far wrong who
said it takes all sorts to make a world. There are some as likes
electric light and some as likes the stars. Gimme the stars." And in
his countryman's way he set the beer in his tankard swirling round
and round before he put it again to his lips.