evening." And he turned back into the bedroom.

Arkwright reflected somewhat uncomfortably. He felt that he
himself was right; yet he could not deny that "Josh's cheap
demagoguery" sounded fine and true. He soon forgot the argument in
the study of his surroundings. "You're living like a wild beast
here, Josh," he presently called out. "You must get a valet."

A loud laugh was the reply.

"Or a wife," continued Arkwright. Then, in the voice of one
announcing an inspiration, "Yes--that's it! A wife!"

Craig reappeared. He had on his waistcoat and coat now, and his
hair was brushed. Arkwright could not but admit that the
personality took the edge off the clothes; even the "mottled
mica"--the rent was completely hid--seemed to have lost the worst
of its glaze and stiffness. "You'll do, Josh," said he. "I spoke
too quickly. If I hadn't accidentally been thrust into the
innermost secrets of your toilet I'd never have suspected." He
looked the Westerner over with gentle, friendly patronage. "Yes,
you'll do. You look fairly well at a glance--and a man's clothes
rarely get more than that."

Craig released his laugh upon his fastidious friend's judicial
seriousness. "The trouble with you, Grant, is you've never lived a
human life. You've always been sheltered and pampered, lifted in
and out of bed by valets, had a suit of clothes for every hour in
the day. I don't see how it is I happen to like you." And in
Craig's face and voice there was frankly the condescension of