in this lump
of a man Heaven alone knew, but a hint of the old half-patient,
half-amused liking for him and his slow wits began to flicker once more.
De gustibus--alas!

CHAPTER XXIV

THE SCHOOL OF THE RECRUIT

When Portlaw arrived home late that evening there existed within his
somewhat ordinary intellect a sense of triumph. The weak usually
experience it at the beginning and through every step of their own
subjugation.

Malcourt, having decided to take an express which stopped on signal at
six in the morning, was reading as usual before the empty fireplace; and
at the first glance he suspected what had begun to happen to Portlaw.

The latter bustled about the room with an air of more or less
importance, sorted his letters, fussed with a newspaper; and every now
and then Malcourt, glancing up, caught Portlaw's eyes peeping
triumphantly around corners at him.

"You've been riding?" he said, much amused. "Are you stiff?"

"A trifle," replied the other carelessly. "I must keep it up. Really,
you know, I've rather neglected the horses lately."

"Rather. So you're taking up riding again?"

Portlaw nodded: "I've come to the conclusion that I need exercise."

Malcourt, who had been urging him for years to exercise, nodded approval
as though the suggestion were a brand-new one.

"Yes," said Portlaw, "I shall ride, I think, every day. I intend to do
a good bit of tramping, too. It's excellent for the liver, Louis."

At this piece of inspired information Malcourt assumed an expression of
deepest interest, but hoped Portlaw might not overdo it.

"I'm going to diet, too," observed Portlaw, watching the effect of this
astounding statement on his superintendent. "My theory is that we all
eat too much."

"Don't do anything Spartan," said Malcourt warningly; "a man at your
time of life--"

"My--what! Confound it, Louis, I'm well this side of forty!"

"Yes, perhaps; but when a man reaches your age there is not much left
for him but the happiness of overeating--"

"What d'y' mean?"

"Nothing; only as he's out of the race with younger men as far as a
pretty woman is concerned--"

"Who's out!" demanded Portlaw, red in the face. "What sort of men do you
suppose interest women? Broilers? I always thought your knowledge of
women was superficial; now I know it. And you don't know everything
about everything else, either--about summonses and lawsuits, for
example." And he cast an exultant look at his superinte