School of Mnemonics would put up against that sort of thing. Archy's
kind of success was very hard to dismiss as pure luck. He scored every
time. He made money, he enjoyed life, and widows were "stuck on him,"
and gave him costly souvenirs. What efficiency could match this? After
the war Archy would be in a position to do as he had occasionally
mentioned--buy a nice little tavern and enjoy himself thoroughly. His
wife had often wanted him to do it. He sat there on the settee, blinking
and smiling in his feline way, and actually seemed to exude prosperity.
It was nothing to him that Captain Meredith had no use for him. He had
no use for Captain Meredith, so that cancelled out. Captain Meredith
could pay him off any time he liked. Archy could write letters to the
Company as well as Captain Meredith, come to that. Just for a moment Mr.
Spokesly had the wild notion that Archy was beyond the reach of any one
on earth, that he was too clever to be caught.

"Well," he said as the boy appeared with the bucket of hot water. "I go
on at eight, Archy."

Archy got up, yawned, and stretched.

"I feel a bit tired. I believe I'll have a sleep. Rather strenuous
evenin' last night, not half. You ought to have been with me, Mister.
Some little piece. Wanted me to stay.... Well, I'll say good-night."

There it was again, thought Mr. Spokesly. Archy could lie on his settee
all day, recovering from his cups, and now he could turn in and have a
comfortable sleep. Mr. Spokesly removed his socks and lowered his feet
into the generous warmth. That was better. After all, a man had to
depend on himself. Schools of Mnemonics couldn't do much when there were
people like Archy and Dainopoulos in the world. He remembered the ring,
and took it out of the drawer to look at it. The heart of the emerald
shot lambent flames at him like the cool green shadows beneath a
waterfall. He saw it on the slim, supple hand of Evanthia. A gust of
strange feeling shook him suddenly. He became aware, with inexplicable
poignancy, of the mystical correlation between jewels and love, as
though precious stones were only the petrified passions of past days.
And how could one reconcile the beauty of these things, and the fact
that they seemed ever to be found in the possession of ignoble men? More
than a year's salary, and Archy could throw it to him to keep for him.
And a woman had given it to him. Mr. Spokesly was beginning to be a
little uncertain of his own knowled