Drew beat by two mauve neckties and a purple frock coat. I had a haberdashery back of me. No use. He put-dressed me. I saw that Arabel la s love for me was waning. With his chamois- gloved hands that new guy fanned the ancient flame."
He paused. Emotion—or the smoke of the cigar—choked him.
"Let's make the short story shorter," he said. "She threw me down. In my haberdashery I thought it over. I was blue, bitter. I resolved on a dreadful step. In the night I wrote her a letter, and carried it down to the box and posted it. Life without Arabella, said the letter, was Shakespeare with Hamlet left out. It hinted at the river, carbolic acid, revolvers. Yes, I posted it. And then—"
"And then," urged Mr. Magee.
Mr. Bland felt tenderly of the horseshoe pin in his purple tie.
"This is just between us," he said. "At that point the trouble began. It came from my being naturally a very brave man. I could have died— easy. The brave thing was to live. To go on, day
