Herman Cyril McNeile

“ Toward the end of the month always, before the money comes, he isn't a man—he's a crawling, hideous thing. Anything, literally anything, will he do to get drink. And there's an Italian bully here who torments him. He loathes him because one night Blair—who was drunk and therefore in good form—put it across the Italian in a battle of words, so that the whole club roared with laughter. And the Italian gets his revenge that way. ”

“ Ever been in a brawl, Leyton, with ten men up against you, and only the couch keeping a fellow with a knife in the background from sticking it into your ribs? Well, that's Jim's heaven, though he'd prefer it to be twenty. Ever seen a man shoot the pip out of the ace of diamonds at ten paces? ”

“ He was staring out of the window, and MacAndrew's eyes and mine met.
“Ay, lad,” said the gruff Scotchman gently, “it's the only straight game.”
He rose and crossed to a cupboard in the corner, and having opened it he took out a bottle of gin. Without a word he handed it to Blair, and then, signing to us to follow him, he left the room.
“There are things,” he said, “on which it is best for a man not to look.”
“Will one bottle be enough?” asked Jim Maitland.
“There's plenty more where it came from,” answered MacAndrew, and with that we sat down to wait. ”

“ Though I am afraid my less fortunate confrères outside will have to suffer for his miserliness. Charity and liquor both begin at home. It is the one comfort of having the club: one can escape from them.”
I glanced into the street, and there I saw his confrères. Five haggard, unshaven human derelicts clustered under the shade of a palm tree, eyeing the door of the club hungrily, wolfishly, waiting for this product of a university to share with them some of the proceeds of his find.
“As you see,” he continued affably, “they are not quite qualified for election even to the Tampico Club.” ”

“ I said, as he finished.
“In Dutch Joe's gin-hell,” he answered. “And they're baiting him. He's got no money. Who is the fellow with the pane of glass in his eye?”
“Jim Maitland,” I remarked briefly, and MacAndrew whistled.
“So that's Jim Maitland, is it?” he said slowly. “Well, if one tenth of the yarns I've heard about him are true, there will be murder done to-night.” He looked at me shrewdly. “How does Maitland stand with the girl?”
“Don't ask me,” I answered. “I know no more than you. They both came in to-day's boat; that's all I can tell you. And, anyway, she's Blair's wife.” ”

“ His sense of fair play was outraged, and he said as much to Maitland.
“He's lied—yonder swine,” he growled. “He's lied to her after his promise to you. She should be told.”
The smile vanished from Jim Maitland's lips, and he stared very straight at the Scotchman.
“The man who tells her,” he said quietly, “answers for it to me.”
And with that he swung out of the hotel.
THUS ended my first meeting with Jim Maitland. We left on the boat next day, and I saw him leaning over the stern, staring at the island till it was but a faint smudge on the horizon. ”

“ Leaning over the bar, Dutch Joe oozed perspiration and geniality They were watching a university man giving an imitation of a dog, at the order of a swarthy Italian
MacAndrew shrugged his shoulders.
“It's easier to belong to our club here than the Bachelors' in London. He's got money, you see—quite a bit of money. Comes out every month. And he's educated—a gentleman. And he's a drunkard. Hopeless, helpless, unredeemable.” He filled his pipe thoughtfully. “And though it's a strange thing to say, it's better to keep him drunk. It's all that keeps what little manhood is left in him alive. ”

“ And then Jim Maitland began to take a hand in his own masterful way:
“I think you had better do what this gentleman suggests, Sheila. I'll take you back to the hotel, and I'll see that you get a good room. Then you can lie down and rest for a bit, while we find out for certain where your husband is.” He turned to us, and we knew he'd guessed something. “Shall I find you here when I've seen Mrs. Blair to the hotel?”
“We'll be here,” said MacAndrew quietly. ”

“ It came with almost as much of a shock to me as it must have to Jim Maitland. For since that day at the club I had not seen Blair again, and if Blair drunk was a pitiful sight, Blair sober was a thousand times worse. Almost, in fact, did I fail te recognize him. He was crawling around the floor like a deg, and barking, and sometimes the spectators kicked him as he passed, and sometimes they threw him a copper, which he clawed at wolfishly. ”