y
courage languages are no career; and, though I 've many defects, I still
have courage."

Shelton let his pipe go out, so pathetic seemed to him this young man's
faith in his career; it was no pretended faith, but neither was it, he
felt, his true motive for departure. "He's tired," he thought; "that 's
it. Tired of one place." And having the instinctive sense that nothing
would keep Ferrand, he redoubled his advice.

"I should have thought," he said, "that you would have done better to
have held on here and saved a little before going off to God knows what."

"To save," said Ferrand, "is impossible for me, but, thanks to you and
your good friends, I 've enough to make front to first necessities. I'm
in correspondence with a friend; it's of great importance for me to reach
Paris before all the world returns. I 've a chance to get, a post in one
of the West African companies. One makes fortunes out there--if one
survives, and, as you know, I don't set too much store by life."

"We have a proverb," said Shelton, "'A bird in the hand is worth two
birds in the bush!'"

"That," returned Ferrand, "like all proverbs, is just half true. This is
an affair of temperament. It 's not in my character to dandle one when I
see two waiting to be caught; 'voyager, apprendre, c'est plus fort que
moi'." He paused; then, with a nervous goggle of the eyes and an ironic
smile he said: "Besides, 'mon cher monsieur', it is better that I go. I
have never been one to hug illusions, and I see pretty clearly that my
presence is hardly acceptable in this house."

"What makes you say that?" asked, Shelton, feeling that the murder was
now out."

"My dear sir, all the world has not your understanding and your lack of
prejudice, and, though your friends have been extremely kind to me, I am
in a false position; I cause them embarrassment, which is not
extraordinary when you reflect what I have been, and that they know my
history."

"Not through me," said Shelton quickly, "for I don't know it myself."

"It's enough," the vagrant said, "that they feel I'm not a bird of their
feather. They cannot change, neither can I. I have never wanted to
remain where I 'm not welcome."

Shelton turned to the window, and stared into the darkness; he would
never quite understand this vagabond, so delicate, so cynical, and he
wondered if Ferrand had been swallowing down the words, "Why, even you
won't be sorry to see my back!"

"Well," he said at