well perhaps that I but partially heard. "Abijah Simmons," he
then cried, "what demon of perversity possesses you? Are you
going to betray me here in a foreign land, to turn out a false
friend, a heartless rogue?"

"Go on, sir," said sturdy Simmons. "Pour it all out. I'll wait
till you've done. Your beer's lovely," he observed independently
to the waiter. "I'll have some more."

"For God's sake explain yourself!" his companion appealed.

There was a pause, at the end of which I heard Mr. Simmons set
down his empty tankard with emphasis. "You poor morbid mooning
man," he resumed, "I don't want to say anything to make you feel
sore. I regularly pity you. But you must allow that you've acted
more like a confirmed crank than a member of our best society--
in which every one's so sensible."

Mr. Searle seemed to have made an effort to compose himself. "Be
so good as to tell me then what was the meaning of your letter."

"Well, you had got on MY nerves, if you want to know, when I
wrote it. It came of my always wishing so to please folks. I had
much better have let you alone. To tell you the plain truth I
never was so horrified in my life as when I found that on the
strength of my few kind words you had come out here to seek your
fortune."

"What then did you expect me to do?"