required. And by the time that Robbins, clearing the board, left them
alone with coffee and cigars and cigarettes, Kellogg was fain to
confess failure--though the confession was a very private one, confined
to himself only.

"Nat," he said suddenly, rousing that young man out of the dreariest of
meditations, "what under the sun _can_ you do?"

"Me? I don't know. Why bother your silly old head about that? I'll make
out somehow."

"But surely there's something you'd rather do than anything else."

"My dear sir," Duncan told him impressively, "the only walk of life in
which I am fitted to shine is that of the idle son of a rich and
foolish father. Since I lost that job I've not been worth my salt."

"That's piffle. There isn't a man living who hasn't some talent or
other, some sort of an ability concealed about his person."

"You can search me," Duncan volunteered gloomily.

His unresponsiveness irritated Kellogg; he thought a while, then
delivered himself of a didactic conclusion:

"The trouble with you is you were brought up all wrong."

"Well, I've been brought down all right. Besides, that's a platitude in
my case."