n
out at the other side. It means office-work from ten to five, and then a
second sitting from about eight to one in the morning. There's drama in
an accountant's life. When I find myself in the still early hours, while
all the world sleeps, hunting through column after column for those
missing figures which will turn a respected alderman into a felon, I
understand that it is not such a prosaic profession after all.

On Monday I came on the first trace of defalcation. No heavy game hunter
ever got a finer thrill when first he caught sight of the trail of his
quarry. But I look at the twenty ledgers and think of the jungle through
which I have to follow him before I get my kill. Hard work--but rare
sport, too, in a way! I saw the fat fellow once at a City dinner, his
red face glowing above a white napkin. He looked at the little pale man
at the end of the table. He would have been pale too if he could have
seen the task that would be mine.

Jan. 6.--What perfect nonsense it is for doctors to prescribe rest when
rest is out of the question! Asses! They might as well shout to a man
who has a pack of wolves at his heels that what he wants is absolute
quiet. My figures must be out by a certain date; unless they are so, I
shall lose the chance of my lifetime, so how on earth am I to rest? I'll
take a week or so after the trial.

Perhaps I was myself a fool to go to the doctor at all. But I get
nervous and highly-strung when I sit alone at my work at night. It's not
a pain--only a sort of fullness of the head with an occasional mist over
the eyes. I thought perhaps some bromide, or chloral, or something of
the kind might do me good. But stop work? It's absurd to ask such a
thing. It's like a long-distance race. You feel queer at first and your
heart thumps and your lungs pant, but if you have only the pluck to
keep on, you get your second wind. I'll stick to my work and wait for my
second wind. If it never comes--all the same, I'll stick to my work. Two
ledgers are done, and I am well on in the third. The rascal has covered
his tracks well, but I pick them up for all that.

Jan. 9.--I had not meant to go to the doctor again. And yet I have had
to. "Straining my nerves, risking a complete breakdown, even endangering
my sanity." That's a nice sentence to have fired off at one. Well, I'll
stand the strain and I'll take the risk, and so long as I can sit in my
chair and move a pen I'll follow the old sinner's slot.

By the wa