convinced at
the time that it would disappear in the debacle when the Algonquin
crumbled into a rubbish heap of rotten securities.

A curious friendship--and the only friend he ever had had among
men--stupid, inertly at hand, as inevitably to be counted on as some
battered toy of childhood which escaped the dust heap so long that
custom tolerates its occupation of any closet space convenient: and
habit, at intervals, picks it up to see what's left of it.

* * * * *

He had finished his whiskey; the fire seemed to have grown too hot, and
he shoved back his chair. But the room, too, was becoming close, even
stifling. Perspiration glistened on his forehead; he rose and began to
wander from room to room, followed always by the stealthy glances of
servants.

The sweat on his face had become unpleasantly cold; he came back to the
fire, endured it for a few moments, then, burning and shivering at the
same time, and preferring the latter sensation, he went out to his
letter-box and unlocked it. There was only one envelope there, a letter
from the governing board of the club requesting his resignation.

The possibility of such an event had never occurred to him; he read the
letter again, folded and placed it in his pocket, went back to the fire
with the idea of burning it, took it out, read it again, folded it
absently, and replaced it in his pocket.

At that time, except for the dull surprise, the episode did not seem to
affect him particularly. So many things had been accumulating, so many
matters had been menacing him, that one cloud more among the dark,
ominous masses gathering made no deeper impression than slight surprise.

For a while he stood motionless, hands in his trousers' pockets, head
lowered; then, as somebody entered the farther door, he turned
instinctively and stepped into a private card room, closing the polished
mahogany door. The door opened a moment later and Delancy Grandcourt
walked in.

"Hello," he said briefly. Dysart, by the window, looked around at him
without any expression whatever.

"Have you heard about Klawber?" asked Delancy. "They're calling the
extra."

Dysart looked out of the window. "That's fast work," he said.

Grandcourt stood for a while in silence, then seated himself, saying:

"He ought to have lived and tried to make good."

"He couldn't."

"He ought to have tried. What's the good of lying down that way?"

"I don't know. I guess he was