Fitzgerald was thirty, with a clean-shaven, lean, and eager face, russet in tone, well offset by the fine blue eyes which had the faculty of seeing little and big things at the same time.  He had dissipated in a trifling fashion, but the healthy, active life he lived in the open more than counteracted the effects.  A lonely orphan, possessing a lively imagination, is seldom free from some vice or other.  There had never been, however, what the world is pleased to term entanglements.  His guardian angel gave him a light step whenever there was any social thin ice.  Oh, he had some relatives; but as they were neither very rich nor very poor, they seldom annoyed one another.  He was, then, a free lance in all the abused word implies; and he lived as he pleased, spending his earnings freely and often carelessly, knowing that the little his father had left him would keep a moderately hungry wolf from the door.  He had been born to a golden spoon, but the food from the pewter one he now used tasted just as good.

“So here you are!  I’ve been in the billiard-room, and the card-room, and the bar-room.”

“Talking of bar-rooms!” Fitzgerald reached for the button.  “Sit down, Hewitt, old boy.  Glad to see you.  Now, I’ll tell you right off the bat, nothing will persuade me.  For years I’ve been jumping to the four points of the compass at the beck of your old magazine and syndicate.  I’m going to settle down and write a novel.”

“Piffle!” growled the editor, dropping his lanky form into a chair.  “Thank goodness, they haven’t swivel chairs in the club.  I’ve been whirling round in one all day—­a long, tall Scotch, please—­but a novel!  I say, piffle!”

“Piffle it may be, but I’m going to have a whack at it.  If I ever do another article it will be as a millionaire’s private secretary.  I should like to study his methods for saving his money.  What is it this time?”

“A dash to the North Pole.”

“Never again north of Berlin or south of Assuan for mine.  No.”

“Come, Fitz; a great chance.”

“When you sent me to Manila I explored hell for you, but I’ve cooled off considerably since then.  No ice for mine, except in silver buckets.”

“You’ve made a pretty good thing out of us; something like five thousand a year and your expenses; and with the credentials we’ve always given you, you have been able to see the world as few men see it.”

“That’s just the trouble.  You’ve spoiled me.”

“Well, you may take my word for it, you won’t have the patience to sit down at home here and write a hundred thousand words that mean anything.  There’s no reason why you can’t do my work and write novels on the side.  We both know a dozen fellows who are doing it.  We’ve got to have this article, and you’re the only man we dare trust alone on it, if it will flatter you any to know it.”

“Come, pussy, come!”

“If it’s a question of more money—­”