fight was far harder than he had imagined, and his nerves seemed to have gone to pieces. Unless he had the support of a dose, he was so brutal, irritable and rude that no one could stay in his presence, and no patient would come near him. He never got his practice back again, and whenever a stray patient called now he had to take an injection, or he would be sure to behave in such a way that the man or woman would never return. He used atropine to mix with his morphine, and thus tried gradually to cure himself, and lately had succeeded in reducing the quantity very considerably, but it was an awful fight, and he admitted the end was uncertain. He said I helped him to bear the strain. My presence, he said, the music too, gave him some sort of comfort and strength, and he was always glad to see me. When I was there he could hold out longer than when he was alone, and one reason he was telling me all this intimate history--telling it to a comparative stranger--was because he wished me to try and help him more.
I stammered some words in broken German about being eager and willing to help, and he smiled and said he thanked me and "we would make the fight together."
"The charm is very powerful," he went on, "especially to a nature like mine, for when I take this stuff the world becomes full of wonder and mystery again, just as it was for me sixty years ago when I was a boy with burning hopes and high dreams. But far more than that, I believe in people again. That makes more difference in your life than anything else, for to lose faith in men makes life unbearable. Bitter experiences have shaken my trust and belief in my fellow creatures. But with this stuff in me I find it again and feel at peace with the world."
"That is why you sometimes approve and at other times disapprove of my attitude towards Boyde?"
"Yes," he said, with a most benign and delightful expression in his eyes. "Give him every chance. There's lots of good in him. He feels, no doubt, that everyone
who knows about him distrusts him. Weak men will
