The Making of a Soul | Page 2

my place." He drew himself out of his big coat as
he spoke. "I thought I'd come up and see you for half an hour first of all.
Jolly glad you're at home. You got my wire?"
"Yes, a few minutes ago. Come and have something to eat." They were
in the sitting-room by now. "There's not much, but I hadn't time to kill
the fatted calf."
"Looks like it." Owen's eyes roamed over the cheerful little
supper-table. "Barry, you're a fraud. Chicken, apple-pie--what more can
man desire? But I confess I am hungry, though I didn't come for a
meal."
"Well, sit down and let's begin," said Barry practically. "I dined at my
aunt's to-night, and as usual I couldn't get much to eat! She asked me so
many questions about ..." he coloured and hurried on "... about

everything, that by the time I'd finished answering them dinner was
over!"
"I see." Owen accepted the plate Barry handed him. "Well, you're
looking very fit, Barry. How's things?"
"Oh, fair." Barry paused in the act of pouring out a whisky-and-soda.
"That's to say, I'm still with old Joliffe, and got a rise of screw last
quarter."
"Did you! Well, wait till we get the review going, and see if I don't
tempt you away from that dictatorial old boss of yours!"
"Oh, I'll come to you all right," said Barry gaily. "But in the meantime
I'd better hang on in the House of Rimmon, hadn't I? You see ..." He
broke off, the colour mounting to his face.
"Of course. You're thinking of Olive. Quite right, too. How is she,
Barry? Well?"
"A 1." Barry fell to on his supper with renewed zest. "Longing to see
you, old chap. By the way"--he slid rather dexterously away from the
subject--"you promised her a skin or something, didn't you? Have any
luck?"
"Luck! Rather! I bagged one tiger who was really magnificent--he'll
make a grand hearthrug for you and Olive. He was a splendid brute and
I was lucky to get him. Of course, I've had luck all the way through. By
gad, Barry, there's nothing like big-game shooting to make one fit! You
know what I was like when I set out--and look at me now!"
Thus invited, Barry looked; and he was bound to admit that his friend
was right.
Eighteen months previous to this wet night of January, Owen Rose had
been so severely injured in a motor-accident that his life had been
despaired of; and although he had eventually recovered, he had been
left so unlike himself that a return to the normal round was impossible.

There was only one prescription, his doctors agreed, and that was the
agreeable, if expensive, one of travel. Only by gaining complete change
of scene, complete change, also, of life and routine, could he hope to
recapture his old splendid vitality and abundant health; and since
luckily Owen was by no means a poor man, the prescription was not so
hard to carry out as might have been the case with another patient.
True, this break in his life interfered with several cherished projects. In
the first--and most important--place, his marriage must be delayed; and
although Miss Vivian Rees was only twenty, and might be considered
fully young to be a bride, the delay, to the ardent lover, was vexatious,
at the least.
Then the review, to which he had alluded in his conversation with
Barry, had perforce to be shelved; and although there was plenty of
time for the production of such a literary newcomer, he had felt, at the
moment, as though called upon to abandon altogether a beloved ideal.
But the fiat had gone forth; and indeed he had agreed entirely with the
medical verdict which pronounced him unfit to shoulder fresh tasks
until his old strength should be regained. Therefore, unwillingly, but
none the less unflinchingly, he had made preparations to leave England
for a year's leisurely travel in the East, starting, as it were, from
Bombay and journeying onwards wherever the fancy took him.
It happened that during his travels he fell in with a couple of old
schoolfellows who were on the verge of a sporting expedition; and
Owen, who by that time was tired of his loafing method of travel,
jumped with alacrity at an invitation to join the party.
They had glorious sport; and in the excitement and vigour of the chase
Owen regained all his old bodily strength and added thereto a quite
fresh store of health and spirits. When at length he turned his face
homewards he knew himself to be in such condition as he had never
before experienced; and as he sat opposite his host to-night, eating and
drinking gaily in this quiet room, he presented to Barry a picture of