That will do you more good than any book."

"Make it good and strong," the man reminded. "And while you are about
it you might as well bring me a noggin of rum. I haven't had any since
yesterday morning."

The invalid drank the tea first, and pronounced it excellent. He let
the rum remain by his side while he filled and lighted his pipe.

"Did you have a good sleep?" Jean asked as she again sat down by the
table. "I hope you feel better."

"I had a fairly good sleep, Miss, although the pain in my side is no
better. However, I am used to suffering. So you don't care for
Shakespeare, eh?"

"I didn't say that," Jean defended. "But I don't like reading those
terrible passages about curses and such like."

"But I like them, Miss. They just suit me, and I feed on them."

"How can you? It is more than I can understand."

"You would, though, if you had been treated as I have been. I am
Timon, and his sufferings were no greater than mine. His so-called
friends were false to him, and so were mine. He cursed them, and I
have made his curses mine. I am really Timon."

"Suppose I call you 'Timon,' then," Jean suggested with a smile. "I
don't know what else to call you, for I do not know your name. 'Mr.