at vacancy, or walked aimlessly about, his mind obviously upon some troublesome or perplexing matter.  I could not believe that Clancy’s victory had cast this shadow upon his spirit, but I asked no questions.  He ordered wine for dinner, a thing he had never done before at the Manor, save on a few occasions when we had had guests, and drank freely of both sherry and champagne, finishing after his coffee with some neat brandy, which he tossed off with an air of familiarity that gave me something of a shock.  He invited me to join him and when I refused seemed to find amusement in twitting me about my abstemious habits.

“Come along now, just a nip of brandy, Roger.  ’Twill make your blood flow a bit faster.  No?  Why not, old Dry-as-dust?  Conscientious scruples?  A dram is as good as three scruples.  Come along, just a taste.”

“Brandy was made for old dotards and young idiots.  I’m neither.”

“Oh, very well, here’s luck!” and he drank again, setting the glass down and drawing a deep breath of satisfaction.  And then with a laugh.  “An idiot!  I suppose I am.  Good thing to be an idiot, Roger.  Nothing expected of you.  Nobody disappointed.”

“You’re talking nonsense,” I said sternly.

“Nonsense!  I differ from you there, old top,” he laughed.  “The true philosophy of life is the one that brings the greatest happiness.  Self-expression is my motto, wherever it leads you.  I fight, I play, I smoke, I drink because those are the things my particular ego requires.”

“Ah!  You’re happy?”

“‘Happiness,’ old Dry-as-dust, as our good friend Rasselas puts it, ‘is but a myth.’  I have ceased listening with credulity to the whispers of fancy or pursuing with eagerness the phantoms of hope.  They’re not for me.  To live in the thick of life and take my knockouts or give them—­Reality!  I’m up against it at last,—­real people, real thoughts, real trials, real problems—­I want them all.  I’m going to drink deep, deep.”

He reached for the brandy bottle again, but I whisked it away and rose.

“You’re a d——­d jackass,” I said, storming down at where he sat from my indignant five feet eight.

His brow lowered and his jaw shot forward unpleasantly.  “A jackass,” I repeated firmly, still holding the neck of the brandy bottle.

He glared at me a moment longer, then he slowly sank back into his chair, his features relaxing, and burst into a laugh.

“Roger, you improve upon acquaintance.  All these years you’ve concealed from me a nice judgment in the use of profanity.  A d——­d jackass!  Hardly Hegelian, but neat, Roger, and most beautifully appropriate.  A jackass, I am.  Also as you have remarked, an idiot.  You see, there’s no argument.  I admit the soft impeachment.  But I won’t drink again just now; so set the brandy bottle down like a good fellow and we will talk as one gentleman to another.”

I saw that I had brought him for the moment to his senses, and obeyed, sitting resolutely silent with folded arms, waiting for him to go on.  He took a pipe from his pocket rather sheepishly, then filled and lighted it.