Often the
people who are the most disappointing in the great issues of life
are the pleasantest to live with through the trifles of everyday
existence and vice versa. I would not have trusted Howard in a
crisis for any consideration, but then crises don't come every day,
and he was delightful to discuss a chapter or a sonnet with.
"When are you going, by the way? Not to-morrow, I hope, for behold
this room!" and he glanced round helplessly.
It was certainly in the most frightful of literary confusions.
Masses of loose papers, letters, bills, poems, drifted over the
tables; books stood in piles upon the floor; newspapers occupied the
chairs.
"No, next week. Shall we say Saturday?"
"All right. I'll be ready by then. Cross--evening, I suppose?"
"Very likely. But I shall see you again," I said, looking at my
watch. "By Jove! close to seven. I must go. Try and get rid of that
confounded jaundice. Good-bye!"
Howard extended his hand.
"By the way, what about the tin? Can you manage?"--
"Oh yes! That's all right," I said.
I was Howard's bank, upon which he drew fitfully and spasmodically:
that is to say, when any expensive little fancy seized him. He
always insisted on giving me I.O.U.'s and acknowledgments for the
sums he borrowed, which I as regularly tore in pieces and put in the
fire. I was half way down the stairs when I ran back and opened his
door again.
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