were charmingly ingenious. 'Surely, I have nothing to do with this idea of Hoffendahl's.'
'With the execution, perhaps not; but how about the conception? You seemed to me to have a great deal to do with it the night you took me to see him.'
Muniment changed his position, raising himself, and in a moment he was seated, Turk-fash ion, beside his mate. He put his arm over his shoulder and held him, studying his face; and then, in the kindest manner in the world, he remarked, 'There are three or four definite chances in your favour.'
'I don't want comfort, you know,' said Hyacinth, with his eyes on the distant atmospheric mixture that represented London.
'What the devil do you want?' Muniment asked, still holding him, and with perfect good-humour.
'Well, to get inside of you a little; to know how a chap feels when he's going to part with his best friend.'
'To part with him?' Muniment repeated.
'I mean, putting it at the worst.'
'I should think you would know by yourself, if you're going to part with me!'
At this Hyacinth prostrated himself, tumbled over on the grass, on his face, which he buried in his arms. He remained in this attitude, saying nothing, for a long time; and while he lay there he thought, with a sudden, quick flood of association, of many strange things. Most of all, he had the sense of the brilliant, charming day; the warm stillness, touched with cries of amusement; the sweetness of loafing there, in an interval of work, with a friend who was a tremendously fine fellow, even if he didn't understand
