t-lived and
left him somewhat unnerved.

"I'm sorry, Phineas. As you say, you're my guest. And as to your
uniform, God knows I honour every man who wears it."

"That's taking things in the right spirit," Phineas conceded graciously,
helping himself to another glass of wine. "And the right spirit is a
great healer of differences. I'll not go so far as to deny that there
is an element of justice in your apportionment of blame. There may, on
various occasions, have been some small dereliction of duty. But
you'll have been observing that in the recent exposition of my
philosophy I have not laboured the point of duty to disproportionate
exaggeration."

Doggie lit a cigarette. His fingers were still shaking. "I'm glad you
own up. It's a sign of grace."

"Ay," said Phineas, "no man is altogether bad. In spite of everything,
I've always entertained a warm affection for you, laddie, and when I
saw you staring at bogies round about the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral
my heart went out to you. You didn't look over-happy."

Doggie, always responsive to human kindness, was touched. He felt a
note of sincerity in McPhail's tone. Perhaps he had judged him
harshly, overlooking the plea in extenuation which Phineas had set
up--that in every man there must be some saving remnant of goodness.

"I wasn't happy, Phineas," he said; "I was as miserable an outcast as
could be found in London, and when a fellow's down and out, you must
forgive him for speaking more bitterly than he ought."

"Don't I know, laddie? Don't I know?" said Phineas sympathetically. He
reached for the cigar-box. "Do you mind if I take another? Perhaps
two--one to smoke afterwards, in memory of this meeting. It is a long
time since my lips touched a thing so gracious as a real Havana."

"Take a lot," said Doggie generously, "I don't really like cigars. I
only bought them because I thought they might be stronger than
cigarettes."

Phineas filled his pockets. "You can pay no greater compliment to a
man's honesty of purpose," said he, "than by taking him at his word.
And now," he continued, when he had carefully lit the cigar he had
first chosen, "let us review the entire situation. What about our good
friends at Durdlebury? What about your uncle, the Very Reverend the
Dean, against whom I bear no ill-will, though I do not say that his
ultimate treatment of me was not over-hasty--what about him? If you
call upon me to put my almost fantastically variegated experienc