"Oh, Harry," he groaned, as the other paused, "you don't know what a traitor I am!"
"Well, possibly my sensibilities are not over fine, but I think you will be more comfortable for taking my advice."
Without replying, the artist rose and going into the adjoining room returned a moment later with a decanter and glasses.
"I am tired," he said, apologetically, as he caught the look of disapproval in his friend's eye; "it will do me good."
"None for me, Julian, before supper, and—I don't think, if—if I were you, I would take any, either."
"I am exhausted, Harry; I am not going to supper and I need it," he said, fretfully.
The other sighed and did not reply. Goetze filled one of the glasses and drank it off, then he resumed his seat by the window. A little later his friend took leave of him; reaching the street door he hesitated as if about to turn back, then he lifted the latch, and passed slowly out into the lighted street, closing the door gently behind him.
The next morning the studio of Julian Goetze was locked. It remained locked all day, and within, stretched upon the floor, unconscious, lay the gifted man, and by his side was an empty flask.