TO-MORROW
Page: 14

turned back a pace or two. A cold white light lin-
gered in the western sky. The man leaned over the
gate in an interested manner.

"You must be Captain Hagberd," he said, with
easy assurance.

The old man spun round, pulling out his spade,
startled by the strange voice.

"Yes, I am," he answered nervously.

The other, smiling straight at him, uttered very
slowly: "You've been advertising for your son, I
believe?"

"My son Harry," mumbled Captain Hagberd,
off his guard for once. "He's coming home to-
morrow."

"The devil he is!" The stranger marvelled
greatly, and then went on, with only a slight
change of tone: "You've grown a beard like
Father Christmas himself."

Captain Hagberd drew a little nearer, and
leaned forward over his spade. "Go your way,"
he said, resentfully and timidly at the same time,
because he was always afraid of being laughed at.
Every mental state, even madness, has its equi-
librium based upon self-esteem. Its disturbance
causes unhappiness; and Captain Hagberd lived
amongst a scheme of settled notions which it pained
him to feel disturbed by people's grins. Yes, peo-
ple's grins were awful. They hinted at something
wrong: but what? He could not tell; and that
stranger was obviously grinning--had come on
purpose to grin. It was bad enough on the streets,
but he had never before been outraged like this.

The stranger, unaware how near he was of hav-
ing his head laid open with a spade, said seriously:
"I am not trespassing where I stand, am I? I
fancy there's something wrong about your news.
Suppose you let me come in."

"YOU come in!" murmured old Hagberd, with
inexpressible horror.

"I could give you some real information about
your son--the very latest tip, if you care to
hear."

"No," shouted Hagberd. He began to pace
wildly to and fro, he shouldered his spade, he ges-
ticulated with his other arm. "Here's a fellow--
a grinning fellow, who says there's something
wrong. I've got more information than you're
aware of. I've all the information I want. I've
had it for years--for years--for years--enough
to last me till to-morrow. Let you come in, indeed!