lected a
bit of rice paper from the mantel, and began rolling a cigarette swiftly.
The labor complete he paused, the little white cylinder between his
fingers. A moment he stood so, irresolute or intentionally deliberate;
without apology or comment he poured a second glass of liquor even full
from the red decanter and drank it in silence. "On the square, Darley,"
he blazed, "I expected a lot from that last book, banked on it; and it's
gone flat, like the others." He resumed his seat and the cigarette
flamed. "I worked hard on it, did my level best. I don't believe I can
ever do any better--and now it's failed miserably. It knocks my pins
clean out from under me."

For a time the room was quiet. Roberts did not smile this time, or offer
sympathy. The occasion for that had gone by. He merely waited in the
fulness of knowledge, until the first hot flood of resentment had cooled,
until the inevitable reaction that followed was on. Deliberate, direct to
the point, he struck.

"You're satisfied I'm your friend, are you?" he asked abruptly.

The other looked his surprise.

"Emphatically, yes. One of the few I have--it seems to-night."

"And I couldn't possibly have any selfish motive in--in tearing you loose
from your moorings?"

"None whatever that I can imagine. Why?"

"You won't take offence either if I advise plainly?"

"No, I'm not a fool--yet. What is it, Darley,--your advice?"

Again Roberts paused, deliberately now, unemotionally.

"My advice then is to chuck it, for to-day and to-morrow and all time:
the University, this whole artistic rainbow, chuck it as though it were
hot, red hot, and get down to earth. Is that brutally plain enough?"

Unconsciously Armstrong had sat up, expectant. A moment he remained so,
taking in the thought, all its implications, its suddenly suggested
possibilities; as the full revolutionary significance of the idea came
home of a sudden he dropped back in his place. With an effort he smiled.

"To answer your question: yes, I think that is brutally frank enough," he
said. A moment longer he remained quiet, thinking, the idea expanding.
"Chuck it," he repeated half to himself. "It sounds sensible certainly,
to-night particularly." New thoughts came, thoughts like the sifting of
dead ashes. "Chuck it," feverishly, "and admit incompetency, cowardice,
failure absolute!" For the third time he was on his feet. "No, never.
I'll go to the devil first." His fingers were on the red decante