omewhat melted. We learned that
he had been but two weeks in Upham's service, that he had worked his
passage down the coast from Vancouver to San Francisco.

"And how do you like the Uphams?" said Ajax.

The use of the plural provoked a slight smile.

"Naturally, I don't see much of them," said Wilkins.

He picked up an old photograph album, and began to turn over its
pages. Obviously, his thoughts were elsewhere; and the sound of his
own voice must have startled him.

"By Jove--it's old Sam!"

He spoke in a whisper, as if to himself.

"Yes--it's old Sam," said Ajax quickly. "You were at Harrow?"

Wilkins' eyelids fluttered; then he met our glance with a shrug of his
shoulders.

"Yes."

He stared at the portrait of Sam, the Custos of the School, the
familiar of the Yard, of the Fourth Room Form, Sam, the provider of
birches, Sam of the port wine nose.

"_We_ were at Harrow," said Ajax. "What house was yours?"

Wilkins hesitated; then he said slowly: "Tommy's."

"We were at Billy's."

Wilkins abruptly changed the subject, and soon after he left us. We
rushed to the Harrow register. Yes, in Tommy's house, some seven years
before our time, there had been a certain Theodore Vane Wilkins. Ajax,
whose imagination runs riot, began to prattle about a Dinah, a Delilah
of a Dinah, who had wrecked our schoolfellow's life. And, during the
ensuing week, Dinah was continually in his mouth. Wilkins had moved
camp, and we saw nothing of him. What we heard, however, must be set
down. Silas Upham asked us to spend Sunday at his house. At dinner I
sat next pretty little Hetty, and at once she spoke of Wilkins. To my
annoyance, Ajax introduced the ridiculous Dinah, the perfidious
creature of his fancy. Ajax was in his salad days, but he ought to
have known, even then, that if you want to interest a maid in a man,
tell her that the man has suffered at the hands of another maid.
Hetty's blue eyes sparkled, her dimpled cheeks glowed with sympathy
and indignation.

"Schoolfellow o' yours, was he? Well--I may make that feller foreman
one o' these days," said Silas, with a fond, foolish glance at his
daughter. Hetty could do what she pleased with her sire--and knew it.

"Poppa," said Miss Hetty, "you're all sorts of a darling, and I must
kiss you."

Then she and Ajax strolled on to the verandah, and I found myself
alone with my host. He said meaningly: "Wilkins has had a tough row to
hoe--eh? But he's a perfect gentleman,