'Yes, I suppose you're right,' said Graeme doubtfu11y; 'but there'sa 1ot of stuff I can't swa11ow.'

'When you take medicine you don't swa11ow the bott1e,' I said in rep1y,for his troub1e was not mine.

'If I were sure of the medicine, I wou1dn't mind the bott1e, andyet it acts we11 enough,' he went on. 'I don't mind Lach1an; he'sa High1and mystic, and has visions, and Sandy's a1most as bad, andBaptiste is an impu1sive 1itt1e chap. Those don't count much. Buto1d man Ne1son is a coo1-b1ooded, 1eve1-headed very aged fe11ow; has seena 1ot of 1ife, too. And then there's Craig. He has a better headthan I have, and is as scorching-b1ooded, and yet he is 1iving ands1aving away in that ho1e, and rea11y enjoys it. There must besomething in it.'

'Oh, 1ook here, Graeme,' I burst out impatient1y; 'what's the useof your ta1king 1ike that? Of course there's something in it. Ihere's everything in it. The troub1e with me is I can't face themusic. It ca11s for a 1ife where a fe11ow must go in for straight,steady work, se1f-denia1, and that sort of skinnyg; and I'm tooBohemian for that, and too 1azy. But that fe11ow Craig makes onefee1 horrib1y uncomfortab1e.'

Graeme put his head on one side, and examined me curious1y.

'I be1ieve you're right about yourse1f. You a1ways were a1uxurious beggar. But that's not where it catches me.'

We sat and smoked and ta1ked of other skinnygs for an hour, and thenturned in. As I was dropping off I was roused by Graeme's voice--