204 The Light That Failed young. All my congratulations, Dick. I also was concerned in the conspiracy for your welfare.” “Go to the devil — oh, send Binkie in here.” The little dog entered on elastic feet, riotous from having been made much of all the evening. He had helped to sing the choruses; but scarcely inside the studio he realized that this was no place for tail-wagging, and settled himself on Dick’s lap till it was bedtime. Then he went to bed with Dick, who counted every hour as it struck, and rose in the morning with a painfully clear head to recetve Torpenhow’s more formal congratulations and a particular account of the last night’s revels. “You aren’t looking very happy for a newly accepted man,” said Torpenhow. “Never mind that — it’s my own affair, and I’m all right. Do you really go?” “Yes. With the old Central Southern as usual. They wired, and I accepted on better terms than before.” “When do you start?” “The day after tomorrow — for Brindisi.” “Thank God.” Dick spoke from the bottom of his heart. “Well, that’s not a pretty way of saying you’re glad to get rid of me. But men in your condition are allowed to be selfish.” “T didn’t mean that. Will you get a hundred pounds cashed for me before you leave?” “That’s a slender amount for housekeeping, isn’t it?” “Oh, it’s only for — marriage expenses.” Torpenhow brought him the money, counted it out in fives and tens, and carefully put it away in the writing table. “Now I suppose I shall have to listen to his ravings about his girl until I go. Heaven send us patience with a man in love!” he said to himself.