ickers day long
above the Bitter Lake, move, if you will only wait, most of the men and
women you have known in this life. Dick established himself in quarters
more riotous than respectable. He spent his evenings on the quay, and
boarded many ships, and saw very many friends,--gracious Englishwomen
with whom he had talked not too wisely in the veranda of Shepherd's
Hotel, hurrying war correspondents, skippers of the contract troop-ships
employed in the campaign, army officers by the score, and others of less
reputable trades.

He had choice of all the races of the East and West for studies, and
the advantage of seeing his subjects under the influence of strong
excitement, at the gaming-tables, saloons, dancing-hells, and elsewhere.
For recreation there was the straight vista of the Canal, the blazing
sands, the procession of shipping, and the white hospitals where the
English soldiers lay. He strove to set down in black and white and
colour all that Providence sent him, and when that supply was ended
sought about for fresh material. It was a fascinating employment, but
it ran away with his money, and he had drawn in advance the hundred and
twenty pounds to which he was entitled yearly. 'Now I shall have to work
and starve!' thought he, and was addressing himself to this new fate
when a mysterious telegram arrived from Torpenhow in England, which
said, 'Come back, quick; you have caught on. Come.'

A large smile overspread his face. 'So soon! that's a good hearing,'
said he to himself. 'There will be an orgy to-night. I'll stand or fall
by my luck. Faith, it's time it came!' He deposited half of his funds
in the hands of his well-known friends Monsieur and Madame Binat, and
ordered himself a Zanzibar dance of the finest. Monsieur Binat was
shaking with drink, but Madame smiles sympathetically--'Monsieur needs
a chair, of course, and of course Monsieur will sketch; Monsieur amuses
himself strangely.'

Binat raised a blue-white face from a cot in the inner room. 'I
understand,' he quavered. 'We all know Monsieur. Monsieur is an artist,
as I have been.' Dick nodded. 'In the end,' said Binat, with gravity,
'Monsieur will descend alive into hell, as I have descended.' And he
laughed.

'You must come to the dance, too,' said Dick; 'I shall want you.'

'For my face? I knew it would be so. For my face? My God! and for my
degradation so tremendous! I will not. Take him away. He is a devil.
Or at least do thou, Celeste, dema