n, yours
very sincerely,

'S. T. LYONS.'

'Very nice, too,' murmured Watson at the conclusion of the letter.
'Who says that high ideals don't pay?'

'What do you mean?' said Selwyn sternly. The younger man got up from
his chair and looked at his watch. 'Don't get shirty,' he said. 'I
was only thinking that 800 per is a fairly healthy figure for that
dope.'

'I don't give a damn for the money,' said Selwyn hotly, 'except that it
shows there is a demand in America for the truth. Britain has always
been afraid to face facts. Thank God, America isn't.'

'Well,' said Watson with a slight yawn, 'it's quite obvious that we're
as far apart as the poles on that question, so I think I'll cut along.'

'Stay and have a cup of coffee. There's some being made; it will be
here in a minute.'

'No, thanks. To be brutally frank, Austin, the ozone around here is a
little too rarefied for me. I'm going out to a cab-stand somewhere to
have a sandwich and a cup of tea with any Cockney who hasn't joined the
Citizenship of the World.'

With the shadows under his eyes more pronounced than before, but with
the unchanging look of determination, Selwyn helped the younger man on
with his coat, and handed him his hat and stick. 'I am sorry you won't
stay,' he said calmly, 'for your abuse and sarcasm are nothing to me.
When I took this step I foresaw the consequences, and, believe me, I
have suffered so much already that the loss of another friend means
very little.'

The powerfully built young American twirled his hat uncomfortably
between his fingers. 'Look here, Austin,' he said vehemently, 'why in
blazes can't you get all that hot air out of your system? Come
on--meet me to-morrow, and we'll join up together. It'll be all kinds
of experience, you'll get wagon-loads of copy, and when it's all over
you'll feel like a man instead of a sissy.'

With a tired, patient smile Selwyn put out his hand. 'Good-night,
Doug,' he said. 'I hope you come through all right.'

When he heard the door close downstairs as Watson went out, Selwyn
re-entered the room. The light of the electric lamp glaring on his
manuscript pained his eyes, and he turned it out, leaving the room in
the dim light of the fire. The man-servant entered with a tray.

'Will you have the light on, sir?'

'No, thanks, Smith. Just leave the things on the table.'

'Thank you, sir. Good-night, sir.'

'Good-night, Smith.'

The room was strangely, awesomely