astonishing notions about money matters. Some time ago, when I knew he was in a tight place, I ventured to offer him a loan. I never ventured to repeat the offer."
"That sort of thing sounds very well, my boy, among boys! But did he leave a little bill?"
"Not a ghost of one. He paid up his week's lodging the very day he left. His landlady says that she believes he expended his last penny in doing so. She says, too, that she believes that he has been starving himself for weeks. I myself have noticed that he has become worn almost to a shadow. But, with such a man as that, what could you do? The more he needed help the farther he would shrink from it. In his uttermost extremity he would owe nothing, even to his dearest friend."
"Do you know his haunts?"
"I ought to—none better! But he has been seen nowhere, and by no one. As is the case with our friend upstairs, he has vanished into air."
I did not like the allusion myself. As for Rouse I saw he winced.
"Did this remarkable friend of yours burden himself with any portion of his baggage?"
"He took nothing but his violin."
"Was that his instrument?"
"All instruments were his. But it was his first love, and his last! He used to say of his violin that to him it was mother, father, wife, and friend."
As I was hesitating whether to smile at the folly of these young men Ernest half rose from his seat. He pointed upwards with his hand.
"Back again!"
