Edward Caspar, it was clear, was trying to say something and found it difficult. He stood before the fire, wrapping his dressing-gown about him, and moving elephant-wise from one foot to the other. His brow puckered; his face wrought; his eyes were on the floor.
Mr. Trupp, intuitive and sympathetic as few would have believed, gave him every chance and mute encouragement.
At last the thing came out.
"You know what my tut—tut—trouble is," said the young man, over-riding obstacles with motions of the head. "I find it hard to keep off it." He nodded to the writing-desk on which stood a soda-water syphon and a glass.
"We must see what can be done," the other answered. "You're young. You've got life before you. It's worth making a fight."
The young man showed himself troubled and eager as a child.
"D'you think there's hup—hup—hope for me?" he asked.
"Every hope," replied Mr. Trupp with the gruff cheerfulness that so often surprised his patients. "You're honest with yourself. That's the main thing. First thing we must do is to find you a job."
The other stared into the fire.
"I've got a job," he said at last reluctantly.