to foot in
fresh garments. Deuce of a time since he had dined in full fig! He
would have liked a woman dining opposite--but not the holy woman; no, by
George!--would have liked to see light falling on a woman's shoulders
once again, and a pair of bright eyes! He crossed, snail-like, towards
the fire. There that bullying fellow had stood with his back to
it--confound his impudence!--as if the place belonged to him. And
suddenly he had a vision of his three secretaries' faces--especially
young Farney's as they would look, when the pack got him by the throat
and pulled him down. His co-directors, too! Old Heythorp! How are the
mighty fallen! And that hound jubilant!

His valet passed across the room to shut the window and draw the
curtains. This chap too! The day he could no longer pay his wages, and
had lost the power to say "Shan't want your services any more"--when he
could no longer even pay his doctor for doing his best to kill him off!
Power, interest, independence, all--gone! To be dressed and undressed,
given pap, like a baby in arms, served as they chose to serve him, and
wished out of the way--broken, dishonoured!

By money alone an old man had his being! Meat, drink, movement, breath!
When all his money was gone the holy woman would let him know it fast
enough. They would all let him know it; or if they didn't, it would be
out of pity! He had never been pitied yet--thank God! And he said:

"Get me up a bottle of Perrier Jouet. What's the menu?"

"Germane soup, sir; filly de sole; sweetbread; cutlet soubees, rum
souffly."

"Tell her to give me a hors d'oeuvre, and put on a savoury."

"Yes, sir."

When the man had gone, he thought: 'I should have liked an oyster--too
late now!' and going over to his bureau, he fumblingly pulled out the top
drawer. There was little in it--Just a few papers, business papers on
his Companies, and a schedule of his debts; not even a copy of his
will--he had not made one, nothing to leave! Letters he had never kept.
Half a dozen bills, a few receipts, and the little pink note with the
blue forget-me-not. That was the lot! An old tree gives up bearing
leaves, and its roots dry up, before it comes down in a wind; an old
man's world slowly falls away from him till he stands alone in the night.
Looking at the pink note, he thought: 'Suppose I'd married Alice--a man
never had a better mistress!' He fumbled the drawer to; but still he
strayed feebly about the ro