m.

'No thanks, old man,' he replied. 'I'm giving up smoking--for a time.'

It was now Henry's turn to look surprised. 'Giving up smoking,' he
ejaculated. 'What's wrong--is it your liver?'

'No, no, my liver's all right.'

'Your lungs, then?'

'Of course, not.'

'It surely can't be your heart?'

William began to look annoyed. 'Look here, can't I go without a smoke
for once without my entire anatomy being held up for discussion?' He
then produced a cigarette and proceeded to light it.

'I thought you'd given up smoking,' commented the puzzled Henry.

'Do you call this smoking?' he replied in disgust. 'You might as well
give lemonade to a man who asks for a brandy and soda and tell him it's
just as good.'

'Then why renounce your pipe at all?' asked Henry, still mystified.

'I've decided to go through a sort of mental training,' replied
William, speaking rather quickly and avoiding my eye. 'I think a man
has no right to become the slave of habit. Directly he feels he is
dropping into a groove he ought to face about and go in exactly the
opposite direction.'

'Is that what you're doing just now?' I asked, wondering if this was an
explanation of the Elizabeth episode.

'Exactly. It is the only way to build up one's character. Now, some
people might think me a little careless regarding dress.'

'The ultra-fastidious might consider you a trifle insouciant, William.'

'That is one of the points in my character I intend to correct.' He
dived into his pocket as he spoke and produced a brown paper parcel.
William can carry any number of things in his pockets without making
his figure look any bulgier or more unsymmetrical than usual. He
boasts that he has at times gone on a three weeks' walking tour with
all the luggage he required for that period disposed about his person,
his damp sponge (concealed in the crown of his hat) keeping his head
delightfully cool in the heat of the day.

'What have you got there, William?' I inquired as he unfolded the
parcel.

'My first step in the evolution of character,' he replied solemnly, and
took out a pair of white spats, and some fawn-coloured gloves.

'You don't mean you're going to wear those?' gasped Henry.

'I am--abhorrent as they are to me,' rejoined William mournfully.

'You may call it building up character if you like,' said Henry
shortly, 'but I call it a lot of damned rot.' He pulled hard at his
cigar, and then added, 'You're suffering from so