“They kept on in this way for a year after I opened my office.  I heard from Phil now and then,—­brief notes that he was alive and well,—­and on the 11th of June, the date of the old captain’s death, Grace always received a long letter from him, full of references to their childhood, but telling little of himself.  Herbert’s reputation became worse and worse, and he deserved all the evil that was said of him.  The tradesmen refused him credit, and the carpets and furniture of their little cottage grew old and thread-bare and were not replaced.  I have seen him play pool at Sudden’s for half a day at a dollar a game, and perhaps lose his week’s wages.  He was hand in glove with the set that lurked about the ‘club-room’ over the saloon, and almost any night could be seen at the faro-table fingering his chips and checking off the cards on his tally-sheet.  Nobody but strangers would sit down to a game of poker or casino with him:  he had grown much too skilful.  He was what they called a ‘very smooth player:’  though I never heard of his being openly accused of cheating.

“One of my first cases of consequence was to recover some money which had been paid to some sharpers by an innocent young fellow from the East for a worthless mine in Colorado.  In connection with it I went to Denver.  Charlie Wayland, a brother of the chemistry professor, happened to be on the same train.  He owns the planing-mill down on Sixth Street now, you know; but he was a wild young fellow then, and knew everything that was going on.  He intended to have a time, he said, while he was in Denver; that was what he was going for.  He went with me to the St. James, where I had written Phil to meet me, if he could come down from Boulder.

“Young Wayland had his time in the city, and I had finished my business and was going to start back and leave him to enjoy by himself his trip to Pike’s Peak and the other sights of the State, considerably disappointed at not having seen Phil, when he came in on us as I was packing my grip-sack.  He was rough and hardy as a bear, and had grown a tremendous black beard:  his heavy hand closed over mine till my knuckles cracked.  We were glad enough to see each other, and had plenty to talk about.  Of course I stayed over another day, and Wayland put off his trip to Pike’s Peak to keep us company, though we didn’t care so much for his presence as he seemed to think we did.  But he gave us a little dinner at Charpiot’s, and I forgave his talkativeness for the sake of the champagne, until he became excited by drinking too much of it and began to talk about George Herbert.  He was stating his system of morality, which was, in effect,—­and Charlie had acted up to it pretty well,—­that a fellow should go it when he was young, but when he was married he ought to settle down.