've got to," said Selwyn simply.

"Well, then! In the meanwhile--"

"No. Listen, Boots; I couldn't be free in your house. I--they--there are
telegrams--unexpected ones--at all hours."

"What of it?"

"You don't understand."

"Wait a bit! How do you know I don't? Do the telegrams come from Sandy
Hook?"

"No."

Boots looked him calmly in the eye. "Then I _do_ understand, old man.
Come on out of this, in Heaven's name! Come, now! Get your dressing-gown
off and your coat on! Don't you think I understand? I tell you I _do_!
Yes, the whole blessed, illogical, chivalrous business. . . . Never mind
how I know--for I won't tell you! Oh, I'm not trying to interfere with
you; I know enough to shun buzz-saws. All I want is for you to come and
take that big back room and help a fellow live in a lonely house--help a
man to make it cheerful. I can't stand it alone any longer; and it will
be four years before Drina is eighteen."

"Drina!" repeated Selwyn blankly--then he laughed. It was genuine
laughter, too; and Boots grinned and puffed at his pipe, and recrossed
his legs, watching Selwyn out of eyes brightening with expectancy.

"Then it's settled," he said.

"What? Your ultimate career with Drina?"

"Oh, yes; that also. But I referred to your coming to live with me."

"Boots--"

"Oh, fizz! Come on. I don't like the way you act, Phil."

Selwyn said slowly: "Do you make it a personal matter--"

"Yes, I do; dam'f I don't! You'll be perfectly free there. I don't care
what you do or where you go or what hours you keep. You can run up and
down Broadway all night, if you want to, or you can stop at home and
play with the cats. I've three fine ones"--he made a cup of his hands
and breathed into them, for the room was horribly cold--"three fine
tabbies, and a good fire for 'em to blink at when they start purring."

He looked kindly but anxiously at Selwyn, waiting for a word; and as
none came he said:

"Old fellow, you can't fool me with your talk about needing nothing
better because you're out of town all the time. You know what you and I
used to talk about in the old days--our longing for a home and an open
fire and a brace of cats and bedroom slippers. Now I've got 'em, and I
make Ardois signals at you. If your shelter-tent got afire or blew away,
wouldn't you crawl into mine? And are you going to turn down an old
tent-mate because his shack happens to be built of bricks?"

"Do you put it that way?"

"Yes, I do. W