Well, somehow, they all went.  For a time I got along by the work at the paint-shop.  But they have let me out now; said I was so irregular.  I owe for nearly a month at my lodging-place.”  His eyes sought the floor again, rolling about stupidly.  “Nearly a month, and that’s what makes me jump and tremble so.  You ought to see me sometimes—­b-r-r-r-h!—­and I get to barking!  I’m a wolf mostly, you know, or some kind of an animal, some kind of a brute.  But I’d be all right if everything didn’t go round very slowly, and seem far off.  But I’m a wolf.  You look out for me; best take care I don’t bite you!  Wolf—­wolf!  Ah!  It’s up four flights at the end of the hall, very dark, eight thousand dollars in a green cloth sack, and lots of lights a-burning.  See how long my finger nails are—­regular claws; that’s the wolf, the brute!  Why can’t I talk in my mouth instead of in my throat?  That’s the devil of it.  When you paint on steel and iron your colours don’t dry out true; all the yellows turn green.  But it would ‘a’ been all straight if they hadn’t fired me!  I never talked to anybody—­that was my business, wasn’t it?  And when all those eight thousand little lights begin to burn red, why, of course that makes you nervous!  So I have to drink a great deal of water and chew butcher’s paper.  That fools him and he thinks he’s eating.  Just so as I can lay quiet in the Plaza when the sun is out.  There’s a hack-stand there, you know, and every time that horse tosses his head so’s to get the oats in the bottom of the nose-bag he jingles the chains on the poles and, by God! that’s funny; makes me laugh every time; sounds gay, and the chain sparkles mighty pretty!  Oh, I don’t complain.  Give me a dollar and I’ll bark for you!”

Geary leaned back in his chair listening to Vandover, struck with wonder, marvelling at that which his old chum had come to be.  He was sorry for him, too, yet, nevertheless, he felt a certain indefinite satisfaction, a faint exultation over his misfortunes, glad that their positions were not reversed, pleased that he had been clever enough to keep free from those habits, those modes of life that ended in such fashion.  He rapped sharply on the table.  Vandover straightened up, raising his eyes: 

“You want some work?” he demanded.

“Yes; that’s what I’m after,” answered Vandover, adding, “I must have it!”

“Well,” said Geary, hesitatingly, “I can give you something to do, but it will be pretty dirty.”

Vandover smiled a little, saying, “I guess you can’t give me any work that would be too dirty for me!” With the words he suddenly began to cry again.  “I want to be honest, Mister Geary,” he exclaimed, drawing the backs of his fingers across his lips; “I want to be honest; I’m down and I don’t mean no offence.  Charlie, you and I were old chums once at Harvard.  My God! to think I was a Harvard man once!  Oh, I’m a goner now and I ain’t got a friend.  When I was in the paint-shop they paid me well.  I’ve been in a paint-shop lately painting the little pictures on the safes, little landscapes, you know, and lakes with mountains around them.  I pulled down my twenty dollars and findings!”