fritz neeburg was busily writing in his study when his man came to tell him that carey image had called to see him. he was just starting a chapter of his new book, entitled “neurasthenia and its causes,” but he at once put his pen down.

“this is good of you to receive me,” said image warmly; “i can see you are busy.”

“not too busy to stop and have a chat with you. i hope you don’t want to consult me professionally? you haven’t got the disease of the age, have you?”

image shook his bird-like head and then sighed.

“no, but i came on behalf of someone else—someone in whom you are interested, or i shouldn’t waste your valuable time. have you seen gilbert currey lately?”

“not since the attack of influenza, when he”—dryly—“asked my advice and didn’t take it.”

“ah! you must see him, neeburg.”

neeburg never looked surprised or startled, he had the teutonic phlegmatic temperament. he waited for image to go on.

“my dear fellow, i won’t usurp your province, but i don’t like the look of him at all. i’ve seen men before[233] on the verge of a nervous breakdown. we got a good many out in india, and i’ve come to know that curious inward, burning look of the eyes.... i was very upset yesterday. i met him suddenly in king’s bench walk and he—didn’t know me.”

neeburg opened his eyes a little.

“he passed it off by saying he was immersed in some difficult case; but i could see he was intensely annoyed with himself, and that led me to deduce it is not the first time his memory has played a trick on him. i needn’t say any more to you, as a physician, except that robson, the attorney-general, told me in confidence the other day that he is taking far too much work, and that he is not—doing it well. he’s noticed a great change in him, and he told me, as an old friend, to use my influence to make him take a holiday.”

the eyes of the two men met—image’s brilliantly bright through his eyeglasses, those of the physician calmly reflective. then neeburg got up from his seat and paced the room without speaking.

“i’ve warned him repeatedly,” he said at length, “and i’ve watched it coming. but gilbert is not an easy man to prescribe for. he is eaten up with ambition, he is so keen on ‘the game’ that he takes no heed of warnings, mine or nature’s. that man has worked like a horse for the last five years; in fact, he has worked incessantly ever since his boyhood, when his father urged him to win scholarships for the glory of the currey family.... the father has only been half a success; he had driving power but no judgment, and he was unpopular at the bar. he took up politics, but he was too vehement and dogmatic for his party. he concentrated his ambition on gilbert, and gilbert is very like him—very. with gilbert, what i call ‘the game’ is the very marrow of his bones. you might as well ask him to change his body as change his manner of life. he had a very good[234] constitution, and i hoped it would stand the strain.... but it’s gone to pieces very badly of late. outside people will say suddenly, but he’s been undermined for some time. if his memory is going ... god help him and claudia!”

“extraordinary he can be so blind to her charm and qualities ... extraordinary!... i am sometimes ashamed he is my godson.”

“the men in the currey family have—to put it bluntly—used women. they have never rated them highly. claudia is a very emotional, highly-strung woman, with all sorts of splendid qualities which he does not appreciate; she was never meant to marry a currey.”

“in my young days we didn’t hear so much talk of ‘the game,’ this feverish desire to work one’s self into an early grave. is it a modern failing, doctor?”

“no, men have always sacrificed themselves and devoted their best energies to it, but to-day we are suffering from it in an aggravated form, because most of the things men set their hopes upon are not worth while. it gets worse every year. this craze for luxury, for display—and that comes a good deal from our women-folk—first of all eggs a man on to accumulate money or make a position, then the spirit of the game gets into him, even if he isn’t born with it, and before he has time to turn round and reflect he is in the midst of the scrimmage and he doesn’t want to get out of it. it’s a poison that eats into the very flesh, that corrodes his blood, that makes him blind to the waste of his life. oh! i’ve been watching it for years.”

image’s bright eyes watched neeburg.

“it’s worse in america than it is here, but every day the pace gets hotter, the gambling more feverish. the wrecks of men that have passed through my hands, men that at forty and earlier are practically used up, and no amount of drugs or rest will do them much good! they[235] ‘get through’ the rest of their lives instead of living! while you were in india i practised in new york for a couple of years with finlay mckay. one man came to me at the beginning of my stay, and begged me to pull him together. i preached a holiday, relaxation. he said ‘no,’ but as soon as he had made a couple of million dollars he’d stop. he’d set himself that task. a year later he came to me in such a frazzled state that i was ashamed of my sex. he’d made his pile, he’d gained his ambition. ‘now rest,’ said i, ‘you have still a slender chance if you’re careful.’ ‘i can’t, doctor,’ he said. ‘i can’t do anything except work. i’ve done what i set out to do, but i can’t stop now. life without my work wouldn’t be worth while. i thought it was a bank balance i wanted, but it’s “the game!”’ i told that man i would give him six months if he didn’t clear out of it and go for a long sea voyage. there, in my presence, he deliberately chose the six months. he died in four.... most men nowadays are crazy to get ahead of other men. to a man, ‘the game’: to a woman, love; for whatever women may do or have done, love for them will always remain the great adventure.”

“love was for me ‘the great adventure,’ as well as for her,” said image quietly. “but there, i have something of the woman in me. i realize that.”

“and you have a thousand happy memories, and you still enjoy every minute of your life, don’t you? everything in the world interests you. you have provided yourself with a future. you’re a wise man, image.”

the little man shook his head with a smile. “a sweet and a brave woman was wise for me, neeburg.... you will use your influence with gilbert?”

“yes, i will try and frighten him. i did that once very successfully, but my patient was not so stubborn as gilbert. he had a wife and four children, and she begged me to stop him while there was yet time. he was[236] already in such a state of nerves that the home was all misery and apprehension. generally we tell patients that they are better than they really are, but this man i frightened stiff. he went for a long sea-voyage, and the fright and the cleansing breath of nature—oh! so kindly, if we would only heed her!—cured him. he’s doing exceedingly well now—he’s rapidly becoming famous—but he’s going slow, and they are bringing up their boys to ignore this modern competitive spirit.... i’ll do my best, image, you may be sure of that. but his vigorous early manhood is against him. he won’t believe, i fear, in the danger that threatens.... have you heard about colin paton? i was told yesterday by sir andrew morgan that he’s going to create a sensation shortly by one of the finest books on sociology that has so far been written. sir andrew read it for a publishing firm, and he confessed it staggered him—the knowledge and judgment of the thing. i’m glad; i always knew there was real stuff in paton!”