er face this way when she got to the top
of the steps. Saying something to the people she was with. God, I--she's
the loveliest thing in--" He stopped short, and put his hand to his eyes.

Simmy's grip tightened on George's arm, and then for five minutes he
argued almost desperately with the younger man. In the end, Tresslyn
agreed to go home. He would not go to Anne's.

"And you'll not touch another drop to-night?" said Dodge, as they crossed
over to the line of taxi-cabs.

George halted. "Say, what's on your mind, Simmy? Are you afraid I'll go
off my nut and create a scene,--perhaps mop up the sidewalk with some one
like Percy Wintermill or--well, any one of those nuts in there? That the
idea you've got? Well, let me set you right, my boy. If I ever do anything
like that it will not be with Lutie as the excuse. I'll not drag her name
into it. Mind you, I'm not saying I'll never smash some one's head, but--"

"I didn't mean that, at all," said Simmy.

"And you needn't preach temperance to me," went on George. "I know that
liquor isn't good for me. I hate the stuff, as a matter of fact. I know
what it does to a man who has been an athlete. It gets him quicker than it
gets any one else. But the liquor makes me forget that I'm no good. It
makes me think I'm the biggest, bravest and best man in the world, and God
knows I'm not. When I get enough of the stuff inside of me, I imagine that
I'm good enough for Lutie. It's the only joy I have, this thinking that
I'm as decent as anybody, and the only time I think I'm decent is when I'm
so damned drunk that I don't know anything at all. Tell him to take me to
Meikelham's hotel. Good night. You're all right, Simmy."

"To Meikelham's? I want you to go home, George."

"Well, that's home for me at present. Rotten place, believe me, but it's
the best I can get for a dollar a day," grated George.

"I thought you were living with your mother?"

"No. Kicked out. That was six weeks ago. Couldn't stand seeing me around.
I don't blame her, either. But that's none of your business, Simmy, so
don't say another word."

"It's pretty rough, that's all."

"On me--or her?"

"Both of you," said Simmy sharply. "I say, come over and see me to-morrow
afternoon, George,--at three o'clock. Sober, if you don't mind. I've got
something to say to you--"

"No use, Simmy," sighed George.

"You are fond of Anne, aren't you?"

"Certainly. What's that got to do with it?"

"She may need you s