days at college--an athlete, one of the best of fellows, one of
the sturdiest of men! He had come to this!

Hobart was before me.

"By all the things that are holy!" he exclaimed. "Chick Watson!
Here, have a seat. In the name of Heavens, Chick! What on earth--"

The other dropped feebly into the chair. The body that had once
been so powerful was a skeleton. His coat was a disguise of
padding.

"Hello, Hobart; hello, Harry," he spoke in a whisper. "Not much
like the old Chick, am I? First thing, I'll take some brandy."

It was almost tragic. I glanced at Hobart and nodded to the
waiter. Could it be Chick Watson? I had seen him a year before,
hale, healthy, prosperous. And here he was--a wreck!"

"No," he muttered, "I'm not sick--not sick. Lord, boys, it's good
to meet you. I just thought I would come out for this one last
night, hear some music, see a pretty face, perhaps meet a friend.
But I am afraid--" He dropped off like one suddenly drifting into
slumber.

"Hustle that waiter," I said to Hobart. "Hurry that brandy."

The stimulant seemed to revive him. He lifted up suddenly. There
was fear in his eyes; then on seeing himself among friends--
relief. He turned to me.