Hastings blew out the candle, picked up Clifford’s hat and cane, and said, with an emotion he could not conceal, “This is terrible, Clifford⁠—I⁠—never knew you did this sort of thing.”

“Well, I do,” said Clifford.

“Where is Elliott?”

“Ole chap,” returned Clifford, becoming maudlin, “Providence which feeds⁠—feeds⁠—er⁠—sparrows an’ that sort of thing watcheth over the intemperate wanderer⁠—”

“Where is Elliott?”

But Clifford only wagged his head and waved his arm about. “He’s out there⁠—somewhere about.” Then suddenly feeling a desire to see his missing chum, lifted up his voice and howled for him.

Hastings, thoroughly shocked, sat down on the lounge without a word. Presently, after shedding several scalding tears, Clifford brightened up and rose with great precaution.