lear
out of my reckoning--are you an American?"

"No, I'm English," replied the other. "This is very curious, you don't
recognise me, well--well--well--let's sit down and have a talk, maybe
recollection will come to you--give it time--it is easier to think
sitting down than standing up."

Now as Jones turned to take his seat at the table indicated by the
stranger, he noticed that the bar keeper and his assistant were looking
at him as though he had suddenly become an object of more than ordinary
interest.

The subtlety of human facial expression stands unchallenged, and the
faces of these persons conveyed the impression to Jones that the
interest he had suddenly evoked in their minds had in it a link with the
humorous.

When he looked again, however, having taken his seat, they were both
washing glasses with the solemnity of undertakers.

"I thought those guys were laughing at me," said Jones, "seems I was
wrong, and all the better for them--well, now, let's get to the bottom
of this tangle--who are you, anyway?"

"Just a friend," replied the other, "I'll tell you my name presently,
only I want you to think it out for yourself. Talk about yourself and
then, maybe, you'll arrive at it. Who are you?"

"Me," cried Jones, "I'm Victor Jones of Philadelphia. I'm the partner of
a skunk by name of Stringer. I'm the victim of a British government that
doesn't know the difference between tin plate and Harveyised steel. I'm
a man on the rocks."

The flood gates of his wrath were opened and everything came out,
including the fact of his own desperate position.

When he had finished the only remark of the stranger was:

"Have another."

"Not on your life," cried Jones. "I ought to be making tracks for the
consul or somewhere to get my passage back to the States--well--I don't
know. No--no more cocktails. I'll have a sherry, same as you."

The sherry having been despatched, the stranger rose, refusing a return
drink just at that moment.

"Come into the lounge with me," said he, "I want to tell you something I
can't tell you here."

They passed up the stairs, the stranger leading the way, Jones
following, slightly confused in his mind but full of warmth at his
heart, and with a buoyancy of spirit beyond experience. Stringer was
forgotten, the British Government was forgotten, contracts, hotel bills,
steerage journeys to the States, all these were forgotten. The warmth,
the sumptuous rooms, and the golden lamps of th