sily. "He regards the recent episode, to which I
suppose you refer, as somewhat of a blot upon the family escutcheon. It
isn't likely he would mention it. But you're right--perhaps it behooves
me to be moving before all is lost.--Damn it, Morty," he said savagely,
"what an ass I have made of myself!"

He put his face in his hands, and groaned.

The actor regarded him curiously.

"Hard hit, eh? But you've been hard hit before, and got over it. Cheer
up!"

"That's it," grunted Channing. "I will get over it, and--I don't want
to, Morty! Every fellow's got a best time in his life. This is mine, and
I know it. I want it to last. She's--she's sweet, I tell you! I could
marry a girl like that...."

The other whistled. "Well, why not? She'd wait."

"She might--but what about me?" Channing spoke with a sort of
desperation. "You know me! If I go away from her, I'm bound to get over
it. If I don't go away from her--" he broke off, and walked restlessly
around the room, limping occasionally from force of habit. "It's easy
enough for a cold-blooded chap like you to say 'wait.' But she doesn't
help me, she doesn't help me! You phlegmatic people don't know how
emotion, even the sight of emotion, goes to the head--or you'd never be
actors. You wouldn't dare.--I am mad about her now, absolutely mad about
her. Absurd, isn't it?" He gave a forlorn laugh. "In the words of the
classic, 'I want what I want--when I want it.'"

Farwell was quite unconsciously and methodically making mental notes of
his friend's gestures and expressions for future use. "The old boy's in
earnest for once," he thought; and congratulated himself anew that he
himself was no genius, merely a person with a knack for imitation, and a
habit of keeping his finger on the pulse of the public. It puzzled him
that a man who knew his own weaknesses so thoroughly should make no
effort to deny or conquer them. Channing seemed to observe his ego as
casually as if it belonged to a stranger; and with as little attempt to
interfere with it. That, thought Farwell, must be one of the earmarks of
genius. Mere men like himself, when they choose to fracture what rules
have been laid down for them, do it as blindly as possible, with an
ostrich-like hiding of their heads in the sand; but genius sees exactly
what it is about, and does it just the same.--So ran the cogitations of
Mr. Farwell.

"What would you do if you were I?" asked Channing, appealingly.

"Me? I'd go away from