78 The Light That Failed “Bone-idle, is he? Careless, and touched in the temper?” said the Nilghai. “It isn’t worth worrying over. Dick is probably playing the fool with a woman.” “Isn’t that bad enough?” “No. She may throw him out of gear and knock his work to pieces for a while. She may even turn up here some day and make a scene on the staircase: one never knows. But until Dick speaks of his own accord you had better not touch him. He is no easy-tempered man to handle.” “No; I wish he were. He is such an aggressive, cocksure, you-be-damned fellow.” “He'll get that knocked out of him in time. He must learn that he can’t storm up and down the world with a box of moist tubes and a slick brush. You’re fond of him?” “I'd take any punishment that’s in store for him if I could; but the worst of it is, no man can save his brother.” “No, and the worser of it is, there is no discharge in this war. Dick must learn his lesson like the rest of us. Talking of war, there'll be trouble in the Balkans in the spring.” “That trouble is long coming. I wonder if we could drag Dick out there when it comes off?” Dick entered the room soon afterwards, and the question was put to him. “Not good enough,” he said shortly. “I’m too comfy where I am.” “Surely you aren’t taking all the stuff in the papers seriously?” said the Nilghai. “Your vogue will be ended in less than six months, — the public will know your touch and go on to something new, — and where will you be then?” “Here, in England.” “When you might be doing decent work among us out there? Nonsense! J shall go, the Keneu will be there,