wood-fire in the library, the _bonhomme_ puffing cigarettes in his
arm-chair, beside him a portfolio of newly imported prints and
photographs, and--Theodore tucked safely away in bed. Finally, when I
brought our _tête-à-tête_ to a close (taking good care not to overstay
my welcome) Mr. Sloane seized me by both hands and honored me with one
of his venerable grins. "Max," he said--"you must let me call you
Max--you are the most delightful man I ever knew."

Verily, there's some virtue left in me yet. I believe I almost blushed.

"Why didn't I know you ten years ago?" the old man went on. "There are
ten years lost."

"Ten years ago I was not worth your knowing," Max remarked.

"But I did know you!" cried the _bonhomme_. "I knew you in knowing your
mother."

Ah! my mother again. When the old man begins that chapter I feel like
telling him to blow out his candle and go to bed.

"At all events," he continued, "we must make the most of the years that
remain. I am a rotten old carcass, but I have no intention of dying. You
won't get tired of me and want to go away?"

"I am devoted to you, sir," I said. "But I must be looking for some
occupation, you know."

"Occupation? bother! I'll give you occupation. I'll give you wages."