e in
the sitting-room by now. "There's not much, but I hadn't time to kill
the fatted calf."

"Looks like it." Owen's eyes roamed over the cheerful little
supper-table. "Barry, you're a fraud. Chicken, apple-pie--what more can
man desire? But I confess I _am_ hungry, though I didn't come for a
meal."

"Well, sit down and let's begin," said Barry practically. "I dined at my
aunt's to-night, and as usual I couldn't get much to eat! She asked me
so many questions about ..." he coloured and hurried on "... about
everything, that by the time I'd finished answering them dinner was
over!"

"I see." Owen accepted the plate Barry handed him. "Well, you're looking
very fit, Barry. How's things?"

"Oh, fair." Barry paused in the act of pouring out a whisky-and-soda.
"That's to say, I'm still with old Joliffe, and got a rise of screw last
quarter."

"Did you! Well, wait till we get the review going, and see if I don't
tempt you away from that dictatorial old boss of yours!"

"Oh, I'll come to you all right," said Barry gaily. "But in the meantime
I'd better hang on in the House of Rimmon, hadn't I? You see ..." He
broke off, the colour mounting to his face.

"Of course. You're thinking of Olive. Quite right, too. How is she,
Barry? Well?"

"A 1." Barry fell to on his supper with renewed zest. "Longing to see
you, old chap. By the way"--he slid rather dexterously away from the
subject--"you promised her a skin or something, didn't you? Have any
luck?"

"Luck! Rather! I bagged one tiger who was really magnificent--he'll make
a grand hearthrug for you and Olive. He was a splendid brute and I was
lucky to get him. Of course, I've had luck all the way through. By gad,
Barry, there's nothing like big-game shooting to make one fit! You know
what I was like when I set out--and look at me now!"

Thus invited, Barry looked; and he was bound to admit that his friend
was right.

Eighteen months previous to this wet night of January, Owen Rose had
been so severely injured in a motor-accident that his life had been
despaired of; and although he had eventually recovered, he had been left
so unlike himself that a return to the normal round was impossible.

There was only one prescription, his doctors agreed, and that was the
agreeable, if expensive, one of travel. Only by gaining complete change
of scene, complete change, also, of life and routine, could he hope to
recapture his old splendid vitality and abundant health; and since