ial that he should plan his ways
in regard to them. He had been taught that many obligations of a life
were easily avoided. The lessons of yesterday had been that
retribution was a laggard and blind. With these facts before him he
did not deem it necessary that he should become feverish over the
possibilities of the ensuing twenty-four hours. He could leave much to
chance. Besides, a faith in himself had secretly blossomed. There was
a little flower of confidence growing within him. He was now a man of
experience. He had been out among the dragons, he said, and he assured
himself that they were not so hideous as he had imagined them. Also,
they were inaccurate; they did not sting with precision. A stout heart
often defied, and defying, escaped.

And, furthermore, how could they kill him who was the chosen of gods
and doomed to greatness?

He remembered how some of the men had run from the battle. As he
recalled their terror-struck faces he felt a scorn for them. They had
surely been more fleet and more wild than was absolutely necessary.
They were weak mortals. As for himself, he had fled with discretion
and dignity.

He was aroused from this reverie by his friend, who, having hitched
about nervously and blinked at the trees for a time, suddenly coughed
in an introductory way, and spoke.

"Fleming!"

"What?"

The friend put his hand up to his mouth and coughed again. He fidgeted
in his jacket.

"Well," he gulped at last, "I guess yeh might as well give me back them
letters." Dark, prickling blood had flushed into his cheeks and brow.

"All right, Wilson," said the youth. He loosened two buttons of his
coat, thrust in his hand, and brought forth the packet. As he extended
it to his friend the latter's face was turned from him.

He had been slow in the act of producing the packet because during it
he had been trying to invent a remarkable comment on the affair. He
could conjure up nothing of sufficient point. He was compelled to
allow his friend to escape unmolested with his packet. And for this he
took unto himself considerable credit. It was a generous thing.

His friend at his side seemed suffering great shame. As he
contemplated him, the youth felt his heart grow more strong and stout.
He had never been compelled to blush in such manner for his acts; he
was an individual of extraordinary virtues.

He reflected, with condescending pity: "Too bad! Too bad! The poor
devil, it makes