“Alas! no. It is sad, but what would you? Au revoir, m’sieur.”
“Au ’voir.” He moved a pace away, then turned. “I suppose you haven’t any sort of job you could offer me?”
“Unhappily!” said the patron, and turned to welcome a new arrival.
“I shan’t give up,” muttered Wynne, as he walked moodily down the busy boulevard. “After all, it was only a first attempt.”
But he did not sleep very easily that night. He lay with his eyes open in the dark and wondered what would befall him—where he would be in a week’s time—if what Benoit had said were true. These and a thousand perplexing fears and fancies raced and jostled through his brain. Presently one big thought rose and dominated all the rest.
“I mustn’t forget any of this. It is all valuable—all part of the lesson—part of the training—part of the price which a climber has to pay.”
Then he thought of The Cedars, and of Wallace setting forth to the City after a “good” breakfast.
Wallace would have “sensible” boots, and would carry an umbrella. Wallace would exchange views on the subject of politics or chip-carving with other folk as sober as himself. Wallace would smirk at his employer, and would eat a Cambridge sausage for his lunch. Wallace would go to bed at 10.30 P. M. that he might be ready to do these things again on the morrow. With this reflection there came to Wynne a very glorious satisfaction.
“I wouldn’t change with you,” he said, and turning on his side fell into a comfortable and easy sleep.