And, well say, Henry, I says, 'No, madam, it is an ass that rises in me
betimes.'

"And the Ex says, 'George Brotherton, you just never can talk sense.'

"So while I was wrapping up 'Sappho' and ordering her a book with a
title that sounded like a college yell, she told me she was getting on a
higher plane, and I bowed her out. Say, Hen--now wouldn't that jar
you?--the Ex getting on a higher plane."

Mr. Fenn grinned--a sodden grin with a four days' beard on it, and dirty
teeth, and heavy eyes, then looked stupidly at the floor and sighed and
said,

"George, did you know I've quit?" To Mr. Brotherton's kindly smile the
other man replied:

"Yes, sir, sawed 'er right off short--St. Patrick's Day. I thought I'd
ought to quit last Fourth of July--when I tried to eat a live pinwheel.
I thought I had gone far enough." He lifted up his burned-out eyes in
the faded smile that once shone like an arc light, and said:

"Man's a fool to get tangled up with liquor. George, when I get my board
bill paid--I'm going to quit the auctioning line, and go back to law.
But my landlady's needing that money, and I'm a little behind--"

Mr. Brotherton made a motion for his pocket. "No, I don't want a cent of
your money, George," Fenn expostulated. "I was just telling you how
things are. I knew you'd like to know."

Mr. Brotherton came from behind the counter where he had been arranging
his stock for the night, and grasped Henry Fenn's hand. "Say,
Henry--you're all right. You're a man--I've always said so. I tell you,
Hen, I've been to lots of funerals in this town first and last as
pall-bearer or choir singer--pretty nearly every one worth while, but
say, I'm right here to tell you that I have never went to one I was
sorrier over than yours, Henry--and I'm mighty glad to see you're coming
to again."

Henry Fenn smiled weakly and said: "That's right, George--that's right."

And Mr. Brotherton went on, "I claim the lady give you the final
push--not that she needed to push hard of course; but a little pulling
might have held you."

Mr. Fenn rose to leave and sighed again as he stood for a moment in the
doorway--"Yes, George, perhaps so--poor Maggie--poor Maggie."

Mr. Brotherton looked at the man a moment--saw his round hat with
neither back nor front and only the wreck of a band around it, his
tousled clothes, his shoes with the soles curling at the sides and the
frowsy face, from which the man peered out a second and then slunk ba