en the young composer, though he was fast
learning to attribute omniscience to his friend. After the shabby room
with its half-light, after the intent earnestness of Arlt, Thayer felt a
passing dislike of the gorgeousness and glare and frivolity of the
dinner. He was the last man to assert that good art can only associate
itself with homely origins, that prosperity is a deadly foe to its
growth. Nevertheless, he was fully conscious that Arlt in his meagre
surroundings was much nearer to his own ideals than were the immaculate
guests of the evening. Thayer loved luxury; but it must not be
accompanied by empty-headedness.

Thayer had had a definite purpose in accepting his invitation, that
night, a purpose which was quite alien to his mental estimate of his
host. Dudley, to his mind, was in some respects a shade or two better
than Lloyd Avalons, yet many shades worse in that his caddishness came
from deliberate choice, not from lack of training. In any case, Thayer
prayed that he might be remote from either of them, at table.

He quickly discovered that his prayer had been unavailing. He found
himself at the host's right hand, with Lorimer directly opposite. Lloyd
Avalons was next to Lorimer, and, as the dinner progressed by easy
stages, Thayer became aware that his purpose in coming was about to be
put to the test. The dinner was good and abundant; the wines were better
and yet more abundant, and Lloyd Avalons, who appeared to be constructed
of some material which alcohol was powerless to attack, saw to it that
Lorimer's glass was filled as often as his own. The result was
inevitable. Before Lloyd Avalons felt the slightest exhilaration,
Lorimer's brown cheeks were stained with red, and his voice was mounting
by semitones, then by whole tones, while his accent took on a curiously
insistent note which was quite foreign to the trivial subjects of
discussion.

"How did it happen that you were at Eton, Lorimer?" Dudley asked, at the
end of an unnecessarily long story.

"My father took me over. He was at St. James, you know, and he thought I
would find more fellows of my own class at Eton than up here at
Andover."

"That's modest of you, Lorimer," someone called, from the foot of the
table. "But please remember that I'm an Andover man."

"And even then wouldn't they accept you for the ministry?" Lorimer asked
promptly.

The man laughed with perfect good-temper. Already he was two glasses
ahead of Lorimer; but no outw