rth must learn all lessons,
even at the cost of suffering to themselves and others.

As years before I had laboured to acquire a liking for cigars and
whiskey, deeming it an accomplishment necessary to a literary career, so
painstakingly I now applied myself to the cultivation of a pretty taste
in passion. According to the literature, fictional and historical, Vane
was kind enough to supply me with, men of note were invariably sad dogs.
That my temperament was not that of the sad dog, that I lacked instinct
and inclination for the part, appeared to this young idiot of whom I am
writing in the light of a defect. That her languishing glances irritated
rather than maddened me, that the occasional covert pressure of her hot,
thick hand left me cold, I felt a reproach to my manhood. I would fall
in love with her. Surely my blood was red like other men's. Besides, was
I not an artist, and was not profligacy the hall-mark of the artist?

But one grows tired of the confessional. Fate saved me from playing
the part Vane had assigned me in this vulgar comedy, dragged me from my
entanglement, flung me on my feet again. She was a little brusque in the
process; but I do not feel inclined to blame the kind lady for that. The
mud was creeping upward fast, and a quick hand must needs be rough.

Our dramatic friend produced his play sooner than we had expected. It
crept out that something very like it had been seen in the Provinces.
Argument followed, enquiries were set on foot. "It will blow over," said
Vane. But it seemed to be blowing our way.

The salaries, as a rule, were paid by me on Friday night. Vane, in the
course of the evening, would bring me the money for me to distribute
after the performance. We were playing in the north of Ireland. I had
not seen Vane all that day. So soon as I had changed my clothes I left
my dressing-room to seek him. The box-office keeper, meeting me, put a
note into my hand. It was short and to the point. Vane had pocketed the
evening's takings, and had left by the seven-fifty train! He regretted
causing inconvenience, but life was replete with small comedies; the
wise man attached no seriousness to them. We should probably meet again
and enjoy a laugh over our experiences.

Some rumour had got about. I looked up from the letter to find myself
surrounded by suspicious faces. With dry lips I told them the truth.
Only they happened not to regard it as the truth. Vane throughout
had contrived clever