it's your old Phineas. Phineas McPhail, M. A.--now private
P. McPhail."

It was no other than Doggie's tutor of his childhood days.

"Very glad to see you," Doggie murmured.

Phineas, gaunt and bony, took his arm. Doggie's instinctive craving for
companionship made Phineas suddenly welcome.

"Let us have a talk," he said. "Come to my rooms. There will be some
dinner."

"Will I come? Will I have dinner? Laddie, I will."

In the Strand they hailed a taxi-cab and drove to Doggie's place.

"You mention your rooms," said Phineas. "Are you residing permanently in
London?"

"Yes," said Doggie, sadly. "I never expect to leave it."

A few minutes later they reached Woburn Place. Doggie showed Phineas
into the sitting-room. The table was set for Doggie's dinner. Phineas
looked around him in surprise. The tasteless furniture, the dreadful
pictures on the walls, the coarse glass and the well-used plate on the
table, the crumpled napkin in a ring--all came as a shock to Phineas,
who had expected to find Marmaduke's rooms a reproduction of the
fastidious prettiness of the peacock and ivory room in Durdlebury.

"Laddie," he said, gravely, "you must excuse me if I take a liberty, but
I cannot fit you into this environment. It cannot be that you have come
down in the world?"

"To bed-rock," replied Doggie.

"Man, I'm sorry," said Phineas. "I know what coming down feels like. If
I had money--"

Doggie broke in with a laugh. "Pray don't distress yourself, Phineas.
It's not a question of money at all. The last thing in the world I've
had to think of has been money."

"What is the trouble?" Phineas demanded.

"That's a long story," answered Doggie. "In the meantime I had better
give some orders about dinner."

The dinner came in presently, not particularly well served. They sat
down to it.

"By the way," remarked Doggie, "you haven't told me why you became a
soldier."

"Chance," replied Phineas. "I have been going down in the world for some
time, and no one seemed to want me except my country. She clamored for
me at every corner. A recruiting sergeant in Trafalgar Square at last
persuaded me to take the leap. That's how I became Private Phineas
McPhail of the Tenth Wessex Rangers, at the compensation of one
shilling and two pence per day."

"Do you like it?" asked Doggie.

Phineas rubbed the side of his nose thoughtfully.

"In itself it is a vile life," he made answer. "The hours are absurd,
the work is distast