Part 31 (1/2)
He looked across at me, and said.--
”If you would like to see Howard, I believe Thompson could get you admission any time.”
His voice was low and sympathetic.
I raised my eyebrows and said,--
”What should I want to see him for?”
d.i.c.k looked surprised, and then said, hesitatingly,--
”Surely you were very great friends at one time!”
I laughed.
”Yes,” I answered, ”but there is a great deal in that at one time!”
A few days later my father pointed out the announcement of Howard's death in The Times as we sat at breakfast.
I nodded.
”Yes; I heard at the Club he was dying.”
”What was it? They don't say here.”
”No,” I said; ”they would not.”
”What was it?”
”Excess.”
We neither said anything further with reference to it, but Howard's death was in both our thoughts, and as we got up from the table he said, suddenly,--
”There's a great thing in having a quiet, moderate nature, or at least self-control,” and then he added afterwards, as if struck by a sudden amending thought, ”Well, of course, that comes virtually to the same thing.”
”Does it?” I thought. ”By Jove, not to the man himself!”
”Would you think, then,” I asked, with a smile, looking across the rug at him as we stood by the fire, ”that the existence of a lion-tamer was quite the same as that of a maiden lady who kept cats?”
He laid down his paper suddenly and stared at me.
”I don't understand--I--you don't mean that you”--
”I mean,” I said, ”that it's extremely difficult to see the best course. Howard has just died, raving mad, for giving way to his impulses; I may die, raving mad, for controlling mine.”
He looked at me apprehensively. ”I am sorry, Victor, if--You don't think you have overworked, do you?”
I laughed as I met his eyes scanning my face anxiously for traces of the possible insanity.