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Author(s): Jianqing Fan
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FRONTIERS OF STATISTICS
The book series provides an overview on the new developments in the frontiers of statis-
tics. It aims at promoting statistical research that has high societal impacts and offers a
concise overview on the recent developments on a topic in the frontiers of statistics. The
books in the series intend to give graduate students and new researchers an idea where the
frontiers of statistics are, to learn common techniques in use so that they can advance the
fields via developing new techniques and new results. It is also intended to provide exten-
sive references so that researchers can follow the threads to learn more comprehensively
what the literature is, to conduct their own research, and to cruise and lead the tidal waves
on the frontiers of statistics.
SERIES EDITORS
Jianqing Fan
Frederick L. Moore' 18 Professor of Finance.
Director of Committee of Statistical Studies,
Department of Operation Research and
Financial Engineering,
Princeton University, NJ 08544, USA.
EDITORIAL BOARD
Tony Cai, University of Pennsylvania
Min Chen, Chinese Academy of Science
Zhi Geng, Peking University
Xuming He, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign
Xihong Lin, Harvard University
Jun Liu, Harvard University
Xiao-Ji Meng, Harvard University
Jeff Wu, Georgia Institute of Technology
Heping Zhang, Yale University
ZhimingMa
Academy of Math and Systems Science,
Institute of Applied Mathematics,
Chinese Academy of Science,
No.55, Zhong-guan-cun East Road,
Beijing 100190, China.

evv Developments
in Biostatistics and
Bioinformatics
Editors
Jianqing Fan
Princeton University, USA
Xihong Lin
Harvard University, USA
Jun S. Liu
Harvard University, USA
Volume 1
NEW JERSEY. LONDON· SINGAPORE· BEIJING· SHANGHAI· HONG KONG· TAIPEI· CHENNAI
World Scientific
Higher Education Press

Jianqing Fan
Department of Operation Reasearch and
Financial Engineering
Princeton University
Jun Liu
Department of Statistics
Harvard University
Copyright @ 2009 by
Higher Education Press
4 Dewai Dajie, 1000II, Beijing, P.R. China and
World Scientific Publishing Co Pte Ltd
5 Toh Tuch Link, Singapore 596224
XihongLin
Department of Biostatistics of the School of
Public Health
Harvard University
All rights reserved. No part ofthis book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, elec-
tronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system,
without permission in writing from the Publisher.
ISBN 13: 978-981-283-743-1
ISBN 10: 981-283-743-4
ISSN 1793-8155
Printed in P. R. China

Preface
The first eight years of the twenty-first century has witted the explosion of data
collection, with relatively low costs. Data with curves, images and movies are fre-
quently collected in molecular biology, health science, engineering, geology, clima-
tology, economics, finance, and humanities. For example, in biomedical research,
MRI, fMRI, microarray, and proteomics data are frequently collected for each
subject, involving hundreds of subjects; in molecular biology, massive sequencing
data are becoming rapidly available; in natural resource discovery and agricul-
ture, thousands of high-resolution images are collected; in business and finance,
millions of transactions are recorded every day. Frontiers of science, engineering,
and humanities differ in the problems of their concerns, but nevertheless share a
common theme: massive or complex data have been collected and new knowledge
needs to be discovered. Massive data collection and new scientific research have
strong impact on statistical thinking, methodological development, and theoreti-
cal studies. They have also challenged traditional statistical theory, methods, and
computation. Many new insights and phenomena need to be discovered and new
statistical tools need to be developed.
With this background, the Center for Statistical Research at the Chinese
Academy of Science initiated the conference series "International Conference on
the Frontiers of Statistics" in 2005. The aim is to provide a focal venue for re-
searchers to gather, interact, and present their new research findings, to discuss
and outline emerging problems in their fields, to lay the groundwork for future col-
laborations, and to engage more statistical scientists in China to conduct research
in the frontiers of statistics. After the general conference in 2005, the 2006 Inter-
national Conference on the Frontiers of Statistics, held in Changchun, focused on
the topic "Biostatistics and Bioinformatics". The conference attracted many top
researchers in the area and was a great success. However, there are still a lot of
Chinese scholars, particularly young researchers and graduate students, who were
not able to attend the conference. This hampers one of the purposes of the con-
ference series. However, an alternative idea was born: inviting active researchers
to provide a bird-eye view on the new developments in the frontiers of statistics,
on the theme topics of the conference series. This will broaden significantly the
benefits of statistical research, both in China and worldwide. The edited books in
this series aim at promoting statistical research that has high societal impacts and
provide not only a concise overview on the recent developments in the frontiers of
statistics, but also useful references to the literature at large, leading readers truly
to the frontiers of statistics.
This book gives an overview on recent development on biostatistics and bioin-
formatics. It is written by active researchers in these emerging areas. It is intended
v

VI Preface
to give graduate students and new researchers an idea where the frontiers of bio-
statistics and bioinformatics are, to learn common techniques in use so that they
can advance the fields via developing new techniques and new results. It is also
intended to provide extensive references so that researchers can follow the threads
to learn more comprehensively what the literature is and to conduct their own
research. It covers three important topics in biostatistics: Analysis of Survival
and Longitudinal Data, Statistical Methods for Epidemiology, and Bioinformat-
ics, where statistics is still advancing rapidly today.
Ever since the invention of nonparametric and semiparametric techniques in
statistics, they have been widely applied to the analysis of survival data and lon-
gitudinal data. In Chapter 1, Jianqing Fan and Jiancheng Jiang give a concise
overview on this subject under the framework of the proportional hazards model.
Nonparametric and semiparametric modeling and inference are stressed. Dongling
Zeng and Jianwen Cai introduce an additive-accelerated rate regression model for
analyzing recurrent event in Chapter 2. This is a flexible class of models that
includes both additive rate model and accelerated rate models, and allows simple
statistical inference. Longitudinal data arise frequently from biomedical studies
and quadratic inference function provides important approaches to the analysis of
longitudinal data. An overview is given in Chapter 3 on this topic by John Dziak,
Runze Li, and Annie Qiu. In Chapter 4, Yi Li gives an overview on modeling and
analysis of spatially correlated data with emphasis on mixed models.
The next two chapters are on statistical methods for epidemiology. Amy Laird
and Xiao-Hua Zhou address the issues on study designs for biomarker-based treat-
ment selection in Chapter 5. Several trial designs are introduced and evaluated.
In Chapter 6, Jinbo Chen reviews recent statistical models for analyzing two-
phase epidemiology studies, with emphasis on the approaches based on estimating-
equation, pseudo-likelihood, and maximum likelihood.
The last four chapters are devoted to the analysis of genomic data. Chapter 7
features protein interaction predictions using diverse data sources, contributed by
Yin Liu, Inyoung Kim, and Hongyu Zhao. The diverse data sources information
for protein-protein interactions is elucidated and computational methods are in-
troduced for aggregating these data sources to better predict protein interactions.
Regulatory motif discovery is handled by Qing Zhou and Mayetri Gupta using
Bayesian approaches in Chapter 8. The chapter begins with a basic statistical
framework for motif finding, extends it to the identification of cis-regulatory mod-
ules, and then introduces methods that combine motif finding with phylogenetic
footprint, gene expression or ChIP-chip data, and nucleosome positioning infor-
mation. Cheng Li and Samir Amin use single nucleotide polymorphism (SNP)
microarrays to analyze cancer genome alterations in Chapter 9. Various methods
are introduced, including paired and non-paired loss of heterozygosity analysis,
copy number analysis, finding significant altered regions across multiple samples,
and hierarchical clustering methods. In Chapter 10, Evan Johnson, Jun Liu and
Shirley Liu give a comprehensive overview on the design and analysis of ChIP-
chip data on genome tiling microarrays. It spans from biological background and
ChIP-chip experiments to statistical methods and computing.
The frontiers of statistics are always dynamic and vibrant. Young researchers

Preface vii
are encouraged to jump into the research wagons and cruise with tidal waves of
the frontiers. It is never too late to get into the frontiers of scientific research.
As long as your mind is evolving with the frontiers, you always have a chance to
catch and to lead next tidal waves. We hope this volume helps you getting into
the frontiers of statistical endeavors and cruise on them thorough your career.
Jianqing Fan, Princeton
Xihong Lin, Cambridge
Jun Liu, Cambridge
August 8, 2008

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Contents
Preface
Part I Analysis of Survival and Longitudinal Data
Chapter 1 Non- and Semi- Parametric Modeling in Survival Analysis
Jianqing Fan, Jiancheng Jiang. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 3
1 Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 3
2 Cox's type of models............................................... 4
3 Multivariate Cox's type of models. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 14
4 Model selection on Cox's models.................................. 24
5 Validating Cox's type of models. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 27
6 Transformation models. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 28
7 Concluding remarks............................................... 30
References. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 30
Chapter 2 Additive-Accelerated Rate Model for Recurrent Event
Donglin Zeng, Jianwen Cai . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 35
1 Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 35
2 Inference procedure and asymptotic properties. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 37
3 Assessing additive and accelerated covariates .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 40
4 Simulation studies. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 41
5 Application....................................................... 42
6 Remarks.......................................................... 43
Acknowledgements ................................................. ;. 44
Appendix............................................................ 44
References. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 48
Chapter 3 An Overview on Quadratic Inference Function Approaches
for Longitudinal Data
John J. Dziak, Runze Li, Annie Qu.................................. 49
1 Introduction...................................................... 49
2 The quadratic inference function approach. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 51
3 Penalized quadratic inference function. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 56
4 Some applications of QIF . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 60
5 Further research and concluding remarks. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 65
Acknowledgements. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 68

x Contents
References. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 68
Chapter 4 Modeling and Analysis of Spatially Correlated Data
Yi Li................................................................ 73
1 Introduction .................................................... " 73
2 Basic concepts of spatial process. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 76
3 Spatial models for non-normal/discrete data ....................... 82
4 Spatial models for censored outcome data ....................... " 88
5 Concluding remarks. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 96
References. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 96
Part II Statistical Methods for Epidemiology
Chapter 5 Study Designs for Biomarker-Based Treatment Selection
Amy Laird, Xiao-Hua Zhou. .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. .. 103
1 Introduction..................................................... 103
2 Definition of study designs. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 104
3 Test of hypotheses and sample size calculation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 108
4 Sample size calculation......................................... " 111
5 Numerical comparisons of efficiency. . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 116
6 Conclusions...................................................... 118
Acknowledgements.................................................. 121
Appendix. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 122
References ......................................................... " 126
Chapter 6 Statistical Methods for Analyzing Two-Phase Studies
Jinbo Chen......................................................... 127
1 Introduction... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 127
2 Two-phase case-control or cross-sectional studies. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 130
3 Two-phase designs in cohort studies ............................ " 136
4 Conclusions .................................................... " 149
References........................................................... 151
Part III Bioinformatics
Chapter 7 Protein Interaction Predictions from Diverse Sources
Yin Liu, Inyoung Kim, Hongyu Zhao............................... 159
1 Introduction..................................................... 159
2 Data sources useful for protein interaction predictions .......... " 161
3 Domain-based methods.......................................... 163
4 Classification methods ......................................... " 169

Contents xi
5 Complex detection methods ..................................... , 172
6 Conclusions...... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 175
Acknowledgements ................................................. , 175
References .......................................................... , 175
Chapter 8 Regulatory Motif Discovery: From Decoding to
Meta-Analysis
Qing Zhou, Mayetri Gupta ...... ................................... , 179
1 Introduction..................................................... 179
2 A Bayesian approach to motif discovery. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 181
3 Discovery of regulatory modules. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 184
4 Motif discovery in multiple species. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189
5 Motif learning on ChIP-chip data ............................... , 195
6 Using nucleosome positioning information in motif discovery.. . .. 201
7 Conclusion......... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 204
References. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 205
Chapter 9 Analysis of Cancer Genome Alterations Using Single
Nucleotide Polymorphism (SNP) Microarrays
Cheng Li, Samir Amin.............................................. 209
1 Background. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 209
2 Loss of heterozygosity analysis using SNP arrays. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 212
3 Copy number analysis using SNP arrays ........................ , 216
4 High-level analysis using LOH and copy number data............ 224
5 Software for cancer alteration analysis using SNP arrays. . . . . . . . .. 229
6 Prospects............................. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 231
Acknowledgements. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 231
References. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 231
Chapter 10 Analysis of ChIP-chip Data on Genome Tiling
Microarrays
W. Evan Johnson, Jun S. Liu, X. Shirley Liu....................... 239
1 Background molecular biology. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 239
2 A ChIP-chip experiment......................................... 241
3 Data description and analysis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 244
4 Follow-up analysis. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 249
5 Conclusion................................... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 254
References. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 254
Subject Index. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 259
Author Index . ......................................................... , 261

Part I
Analysis of Survival and
Longitudinal Data

Chapter 1
Non- and Semi- Parametric Modeling
in Survival Analysis *
Jianqing Fan t Jiancheng Jiang +
Abstract
In this chapter, we give a selective review of the nonparametric modeling
methods using Cox's type of models in survival analysis. We first intro-
duce Cox's model (Cox 1972) and then study its variants in the direction
of smoothing. The model fitting, variable selection, and hypothesis testing
problems are addressed. A number of topics worthy of further study are
given throughout this chapter.
Keywords: Censoring; Cox's model; failure time; likelihood; modeling;
nonparametric smoothing.
1 Introduction
Survival analysis is concerned with studying the time between entry to a study and
a subsequent event and becomes one of the most important fields in statistics. The
techniques developed in survival analysis are now applied in many fields, such as
biology (survival time), engineering (failure time), medicine (treatment effects or
the efficacy of drugs), quality control (lifetime of component), credit risk modeling
in finance (default time of a firm).
An important problem in survival analysis is how to model well the con-
ditional hazard rate of failure times given certain covariates, because it involves
frequently asked questions about whether or not certain independent variables are
correlated with the survival or failure times. These problems have presented a
significant challenge to statisticians in the last 5 decades, and their importance
has motivated many statisticians to work in this area. Among them is one of the
most important contributions, the proportional hazards model or Cox's model and
its associated partial likelihood estimation method (Cox, 1972), which stimulated
-The authors are partly supported by NSF grants DMS-0532370, DMS-0704337 and NIH
ROl-GM072611.
tDepartment of ORFE, Princeton University, Princeton, NJ 08544, USA, E-mail: jqfan@
princeton.edu
tDepartment of Mathematics and Statistics, University of North Carolina, Charlotte, NC
28223, USA, E-mail: jjiangl@uncc.edu
3

4 Jianqing Fan, Jiancheng Jiang
a lot of works in this field. In this chapter we will review related work along this
direction using the Cox's type of models and open an academic research avenue for
interested readers. Various estimation methods are considered, a variable selection
approach is studied, and a useful inference method, the generalized likelihood ratio
(GLR) test, is employed to address hypothesis testing problems for the models.
Several topics worthy of further study are laid down in the discussion section.
The remainder of this chapter is organized as follows. We consider univariate
Cox's type of models in Section 2 and study multivariate Cox's type of models
using the marginal modeling strategy in Section 3. Section 4 focuses on model
selection rules, Section 5 is devoted to validating Cox's type of models, and Sec-
tion 6 discusses transformation models (extensions to Cox's models). Finally, we
conclude this chapter in the discussion section.
2 Cox's type of models
Model Specification. The celebrated Cox model has provided a tremendously
successful tool for exploring the association of covariates with failure time and
survival distributions and for studying the effect of a primary covariate while ad-
justing for other variables. This model assumes that, given a q-dimensional vector
of covariates Z, the underlying conditional hazard rate (rather than expected sur-
vival time T),
. 1
A(tlz)= hm AP{t:::;T<t+~tIT?t,Z=z}
D.t--+o+ ut
is a function of the independent variables (covariates):
A(tlz) = Ao(t)W(z), (2.1)
where w(z) = exp('lj;(z)) with the form of the function 'lj;(z) known such as 'lj;(z) =
(3Tz, and Ao(t) is an unknown baseline hazard function. Once the conditional
hazard rate is given, the condition survival function S(tlz) and conditional density
f(tlz) are also determined. In general, they have the following relationship:
S(tlz) = exp(-A(tlz)), f(tlz) = A(tlz)S(tlz), (2.2)
where A(tlz) = J;A(tlz)dt is the cumulative hazard function. Since no assump-
tions are made about the nature or shape of the baseline hazard function, the Cox
regression model may be considered to be a semiparametric model.
The Cox model is very useful for tackling with censored data which often hap-
pen in practice. For example, due to termination of the study or early withdrawal
from a study, not all of the survival times T1 , ... ,Tn may be fully observable. In-
stead one observes for the i-th subject an event time Xi = min(Ti' Ci), a censoring
indicator 8i = J(Ti :::; Ci), as well as an associated vector of covariates Zi. Denote
the observed data by {(Zi' Xi, 8i ) : i = 1,··· , n} which is an i.i.d. sample from
the population (Z, X, 8) with X = min(T, C) and 8 = J(T :::; C). Suppose that

Chapter 1 Non- and Semi- Parametric Modeling in Survival Analysis 5
the random variables T and C are positive and continuous. Then by Fan, Gijbels,
and King (1997), under the Cox model (2.1),
E{8IZ = z}
llI(x) = E{Ao(X)IZ = z}' (2.3)
where Ao(t) = J~ >'0(u) du is the cumulative baseline hazard function. Equation
(2.3) allows one to estimate the function III using regression techniques if >'o(t) is
known.
The likelihood function can also be derived. When 8i = 0, all we know is
that the survival time Ti ;? Ci and the probability for getting this is
whereas when 8i = 1, the likelihood of getting Ti is !(TiIZi) = !(XiIZi). Therefore
the conditional (given covariates) likelihood for getting the data is
and using (2.2), we have
L = I: 10g(>'(XiIZi)) - I:A(XiIZi)
8;=1 i
(2.5)
For proportional hazards model (2.1), we have specifically
(2.6)
Therefore, when both 'ljJ(-) and >'00 are parameterized, the parameters can be
estimated by maximizing the likelihood (2.6).
Estimation. The likelihood inference can be made about the parameters in model
(2.1) if the baseline >'00 and the risk function 'ljJ(.) are known up to a vector of
unknown parameters {3 (Aitkin and Clayton, 1980), i.e.
>'00 = >'o{-; (3) and 'ljJ(-) = 'ljJ(.; (3).
When the baseline is completely unknown and the form of the function 'ljJ(.) is
given, inference can be based on the partial likelihood (Cox, 1975). Since the full
likelihood involves both (3 and >'o(t), Cox decomposed the full likelihood into a
product of the term corresponding to identities of successive failures and the term
corresponding to the gap times between any two successive failures. The first term
inherits the usual large-sample properties of the full likelihood and is called the
partial likelihood.

6 Jianqing Fan, Jiancheng Jiang
The partial likelihood can also be derived from counting process theory (see
for example Andersen, Borgan, Gill, and Keiding 1993) or from a profile likelihood
in Johansen (1983). In the following we introduce the latter.
Example 1 [The partial likelihood as profile likelihood; Fan, Gijbel, and King
(1997)] Consider the case that 'Ij;(z) = 'Ij;(z; (3). Let tl < ... < tN denote the
ordered failure times and let (i) denote the label of the item failing at k Denote
by Ri the risk set at time ti-, that is Ri = {j : Xj ~ td. Consider the least
informative nonparametric modeling for Ao('), that is, Ao(t) puts point mass (}j
at time tj in the same way as constructing the empirical distribution:
Then
N
Ao(t; (}) = L (}jI(tj ~ t).
j=l
N
AO(Xi;{}) = L{}jI(i E Rj ).
j=l
(2.7)
(2.8)
Under the proportional hazards model (2.1), using (2.6), the log likelihood is
n
logL = L[6i{logAo(Xi;{}) +'Ij;(Zi;(3)}
i=l
-AO(Xi; (}) exp{'Ij;(Zi; (3))]. (2.9)
Substituting (2.7) and (2.8) into (2.9), one establishes that
n
logL = L[1og{}j +'Ij;(Z(j);(3)]
j=l
n N
- LL{}jI(i E Rj)exp{'Ij;(Zi;(3)}. (2.10)
i=l j=l
Maximizing log L with respect to {}j leads to the following Breslow estimator of
the baseline hazard [Breslow (1972, 1974)]
OJ = [L exp{'lj;(Zi; (3)}rl.
iERj
(2.11)
Substituting (2.11) into (2.10), we obtain
n
~~logL = L('Ij;(Zei);(3) -log[L exp{'Ij;(Zj;(3)}]) - N.
t=l JERi
This leads to the log partial likelihood function (Cox 1975)
n
£((3) = L ('Ij;(Zei); (3) - log [L exp{'lj;(Zj; (3)}]). (2.12)
t=l JERi

Chapter 1 Non- and Semi- Parametric Modeling in Survival Analysis 7
An alternative expression is
n n
R({3) = I:('Iji(ZCi);,8) -log[I:}j(Xi)exP{'Iji(Zj;,8)}]),
i=l j=l
where }jet) = I(Xj ~ t) is the survival indicator on whether the j-th subject
survives at the time t.
The above partial likelihood function is a profile likelihood and is derived
from the full likelihood using the least informative nonparametric modeling for
Ao(·), that is, Ao(t) has a jump (h at k <>
Let /3 be the partial likelihood estimator of,8 maximizing (2.12) with respect
to,8. By standard likelihood theory, it can be shown that (see for example Tsiatis
1981) the asymptotic distribution y'n(/3 - (3) is multivariate normal with mean
zero and a covariance matrix which may be estimated consistently by (n- 11(/3))-1,
where
1(,8) = rT
[S2(,8,t) _ (S1(,8,t))®2] dN(t)
Jo So (,8, t) So (,8, t)
and for k = 0, 1, 2,
n
Sk(,8,t) = I:Yi(t)'ljiI(Zi;{3)®kexp{'Iji(Zi;,8)},
i=1
where N(t) = I(X ~ t,o = 1), and x®k = 1,x,xxT, respectively for k = 0,1
and 2.
Since the baseline hazard Ao does not appear in the partial likelihood, it
is not estimable from the likelihood. There are several methods for estimating
parameters related to Ao. One appealing estimate among them is the Breslow
estimator (Breslow 1972, 1974)
(2.13)
Hypothesis testing. After fitting the Cox model, one might be interested in
checking if covariates really contribute to the risk function, for example, checking
if the coefficient vector ,8 is zero. More generally, one considers the hypothesis
testing problem
Ho: ,8 = ,80·
From the asymptotic normality of the estimator /3, it follows that the asymptotic
null distribution of the Wald test statistic

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face if he had executed it.
The sergeant drew in a breath that raised the drum in a motion that spelt
rufflement. "Don't want you to tell me nothing but what you're asked," he
said. "Man lying here hurt. Case of assault—hur!" He moved the drum
slowly in the direction of Mr. Puddlebox and this time "hured" before he
spoke. "Hur! Thought I knew you as I come along. Seen you afore—in the
dock,—ain't I?"
"I've been in so many," said Mr. Puddlebox amicably, wiping his face
from which the sweat streamed, "that if I've omitted yours, you must put it
down to oversight, not unfriendliness."
"None o' that!" returned the sergeant. "No sauce. I know yer. Charged
with assault, both of yer, an' anything said used evidence against yer. Hur!
Who's this man down here?"
"Look and see if you know him," Mr. Wriford suggested. "I don't."
The drum was again advanced to the ditch, and the counterbalancing
operation again very carefully put into process. Mr. Wriford's eyes danced
with the wild idea that possessed him. To cap this tremendous hullabaloo in
which he had been in it! in it! in it! To fly the wildest flight of all! To
overturn, with a walloping kick, a policeman!
He drew near to Mr. Puddlebox and pulled his sleeve to attract his
attention.
"Why, that's George!" said the sergeant, midway in operation of his
counterbalancing machine. "That's old George Huggs—hur!"
"Can't be!" said Mr. Wriford and pulled Mr. Puddlebox's sleeve, and
pointed first at the tremendous uniformed stern gingerly lowering the tunic-
ed drum, then at his own foot, then down the road.
"Can't be!" returned the sergeant. "What yer mean, can't be! That's Miller
Derrybill's George Huggs. George! George, you've got to come out and
prosecute. George, I say—hur!"

Mr. Puddlebox, realizing the meaning of Mr. Wriford's pantomime,
puffed out his cheeks with laughter bursting to be free and nodded. Mr.
Wriford took one quick step and poised his foot at the tremendous target.
"George!" said the sergeant. "George Huggs! Hur!"
"Whoop!" said Mr. Wriford, and lashed.
The counterbalancing machine, not specified for this manner of usage,
overturned with the slow and awful movement of a somersaulting elephant.
One agonized scream from its owner, one dreadful bellow from George
Huggs as the enormous sergeant plunged head foremost upon him—Mr.
Wriford and Mr. Puddlebox, shouts of laughter handicapping their progress
but impossible of control, at full speed down the road.
CHAPTER IV
FIRST PERSON SINGULAR
I
Close of this day found the two in the outlying barn of a farm to which,
as night fell, Mr. Puddlebox had led the way. There had intervened between
it and the glorious battle-field an imperial midday banquet at an inn
provided by Mr. Wriford, who found sixteen shillings in his pocket and had
expended upon the meal four, upon sundries for further repasts one, and
upon a bottle of whisky to replace the music in Mr. Puddlebox's coat-tail
three and six. Thence a long amble to put much countryside between
themselves and the mighty gentlemen left in the ditch, and so luxuriously to
bed upon delicious hay, three parts of the whisky in the bottle, the other
quarter comfortably packed into Mr. Puddlebox.

Through the banquet and through the day there had been bursts of
laughter, started by one and immediately chorused by the other, at
recollections of the stupendous struggle and the stupendous kick; also,
prompted by Mr. Wriford, reiterated conversation upon a particular aspect
of the affair.
"I did my share?" Mr. Wriford would eagerly inquire.
"Loony, you did two men's share," Mr. Puddlebox would reply. "And
your kick of the policeman was another two men's—four men's share, boy. I
didn't want you in it, loony. You're not fit for such, I thought. But you
glumphed 'em, boy! You glumphed 'em like six men! Loony, you're
unspooking—you're unspooking double quick!"
Mr. Wriford thrilled at that and laughed aloud and swung his arms in
glee, and through the advancing night, lying warmly in the hay by Mr.
Puddlebox's side, continued to feast upon it and to chuckle over it; and
while he feasted and chuckled very often said to himself: "And that's the
way to get rid of myself following me. When I was frightened by the
wagon, he came. When I was walloping and smashing, he went and hasn't
come back. Very well. Now I know."
II
Mr. Wriford enjoyed some hours of dreamless sleep. He awoke, and on
the hay and in the darkness lay awake and thought.
"Well, this is a very funny state of affairs," Mr. Wriford thought. "Except
that I'm in a barn and shall get locked up for a tramp if I'm caught, or at
least into a devil of a row with the farmer if he catches me, I'm dashed if I
know where I am. I've stolen a ride on a wagon, and I've had a most
extraordinary fight in the road with the chap who was driving it. My eyes
were shut half the time. I wonder I wasn't killed. I must have got some
fearful smashes. I suppose I didn't feel them—you don't when your blood's

up. I belted him a few stiff 'uns, though; by gad, I did! I don't know how I
had the pluck. I wonder what's the matter with me—I mean to say, me!
fighting a chap like that. And then I kicked a policeman. Good Lord, you
know—that's about the most appalling thing a man can do! Kicked him
bang over—heels over head! By gad, he did go a buster, though!" And at
recollection of the buster that the police sergeant went, Mr. Wriford began
to laugh and laughed quietly for a good while.
Then he began to think again. "I chucked myself into the river," Mr.
Wriford thought. "I'd forgotten that. I've not thought about it since I did it.
Good Lord, that was a thing to do! I didn't mean to. One moment I was
walking along the Embankment, and the next I was falling in. I wonder
what I did in between—how I got up, how I got in. I wanted to die. Yes, I
tried to drown and die. I suppose I'm not dead? No, I can't possibly be dead.
Everything's funny enough to be another world, but I take my oath I'm not
dead. This chap Puddlebox—which can't possibly be his real name—thinks
I'm mad. But I'm absolutely not mad. I may be dead—I know I'm not,
though; at least I'm pretty sure I'm not—but I'm dashed if I'm mad. I've been
too near madness—God knows—not to know it when I see it. Those sort of
rushes-up in my head—I might have gone mad any time with one of those.
Well, they're gone. I'll never have another; I feel absolutely sure of that. My
head feels empty—feels as though it was a different part of me, like I've
known my foot feel when it's gone to sleep and I can touch it without
feeling it. Before, my head used to feel full, cram full. That's the only
difference and that's not mad: it's just the reverse, if anything. What about
seeing myself? Who am I then? I mean to say, am I the one I can see or the
one I think I am? Well, the thing is, is there any one there when I see him or
is it only imagination, only a delusion? If it's a delusion, then it's madness
and I'm mad. Well, the very fact that I know that, proves it isn't a delusion
and proves I'm absolutely sane; the very fact that I can lie here and argue
about it and that I can't see it now because it isn't here, and can see it
sometimes because it is there—that very fact proves I'm not mad. I think I
know what it is. It's the same sort of thing as I remember once or twice
years ago, when I first came to London and had a night out with some men
and got a bit tipsy. I remember then sort of seeing myself—sort of trying to
pull myself together and realise who I really was; and while I was trying, I
could see myself playing the fool and staggering about and making an ass

of myself. It was the drink that did that—that kind of separated me into two.
Now I've done the same thing by trying to drown myself and nearly
succeeding and by coming into this extraordinary state of affairs after living
in a groove so long. Part of me is still in that old life and gets the upper
hand of me sometimes, just as the drink used to. I've only got to realise that
I've done with all that, and I've only got to smash about and not care what
happens to me, and I'm all right.
"And I have done with it," cried Mr. Wriford aloud and fiercely, and
sitting up and continuing to speak very quickly. "I have done with it! All
these years I've been shut up and never enjoyed myself like other men. I've
given up my life to others and got mixed up in their troubles and never been
able to live for myself. Now I'm going to begin life all over again. I'm not
going to care for anybody. I'm just going to let myself—go! I'm not going to
care what happens. I'm not going to think of other people's feelings. I'm not
going to be polite or care a damn what anybody thinks. If I get hurt, I'm just
going to be hurt and not care. If I want to do what would have seemed
wrong in the old days, I'm just going to do it and not care. I've cared too
much! that's what's been wrong with me. Now I'm not going to care for
anything or anybody. This chap Puddlebox said that what was wrong with
me was that I thought too much about myself. I remember Brida telling me
the same thing once. That's just exactly what it's not. All my life I've
thought too much about other people. That's been the trouble. Done!
Whoop, my boy, it's done! There's not going to be anybody in the world for
myself except me—yes, and not even me. I'm going to be outside it all and
just look on—and this me lying here can do what it likes, anything it likes.
Hurt itself, starve itself, chuck itself down—that's one of the things I want
to do: to get up somewhere and chuck myself down smash! and see what
happens and laugh at it, whatever it is. I'm simply not going to care. I
belong to myself—or rather myself belongs to me, and I'm going to do what
I like with it—just exactly what I like. Puddlebox!"
Mr. Wriford turned to the recumbent form beside him to nudge it into
wakefulness, but found it already awake. The gleam of Mr. Puddlebox's
open eyes was to be seen in the darkness, and Mr. Puddlebox said: "Loony,
how many of you are here this morning?"

"There's only me," said Mr. Wriford. "I'm not going to care—"
"You're spooked again, loony," Mr. Puddlebox interrupted him. "I've
been listening to you talking."
"Well, you can listen to this," said Mr. Wriford. "I'm not going to care a
damn what happens to me or care a hang for anybody—you or anybody."
"Very well," said Mr. Puddlebox. "That's settled."
"So it is," said Mr. Wriford, "and I tell you what I'm going to do first."
Sufficient of morning was by now stealing through cracks and crevices
of the barn to radiate its gloom. Two great doors admitted to the interior.
Between them ran a gangway of bricked floor with hay stacked upwards to
the roof on either hand. Mr. Wriford could almost touch the roof where now
he stood up, his feet sinking in the hay, and could see the top of the ladder
by which overnight they had climbed to their bed. "What I'm going to do
first," said Mr. Wriford, pointing to the gangway beneath them, "is to jump
down there and see what happens."
"Well, I'll tell you what you are going to do last," returned Mr.
Puddlebox, "and that also is jump down there, because you'll break your
neck and that'll be the end of you, boy."
"I'm going to see," said Mr. Wriford. "Smash! That's just what I want to
see."
"Half a minute," said Mr. Puddlebox and caught Mr. Wriford's coat. "Just
a moment, my loony, for there's some one else wants to see also. There's
some one coming in."

CHAPTER V
INTENTIONS, IN HIS NIGHTSHIRT, OF A
FARMER
It was symptomatic of Mr. Wriford's state in these days that any
interruption at once diverted him from his immediate purpose and turned
him eagerly to whatever new excitement offered. So now, and here was an
excitement that promised richly. Perched up there in the darkness and with
the guilty knowledge of being a trespasser, it was a very tingling thing to
hear the sounds to which Mr. Puddlebox had called attention and, peering
towards the door from which they came, to speculate into what alarms they
should develop. This was speedily discovered. The sounds proceeded from
the door opposite to that by which entry had been made overnight, and from
fumbling passed into a jingling of keys, a turning of the lock, and so gave
admittance to a gleam of yellow light that immediately was followed by a
man bearing a lantern swinging from his left hand and in his right a bunch
of keys.
This was a curious gentleman who now performed curious actions. First
he peered about him, holding the lantern aloft, and this disclosed him to be
short and very ugly, having beneath a black growth on his upper lip yellow
teeth that protruded and came down upon his lower. This gentleman was
hatless and in a shirt without collar lumped so bulgingly into the top of his
trousers as to present the idea that it was very long. Indeed, as he turned
about, the lantern at arm's length above his head, it became clear to those
who watched that this was his nightshirt that he wore. Next he set down the
lantern, locked the door by which he had entered, placed across it an iron
bar which fell into a bracket on either side, took up his light again, and
proceeded along the gangway.
All this he did very stealthily—turning the key so that the lock could
scarcely be heard as it responded, fitting his iron bar, first with great
attention on the one side and then on the other, and then walking forward on
his toes with manifest straining after secrecy. A rat scurried in the straw
behind him, and he twisted round towards it as though terribly startled, with

a quick hiss of his breath and with his hand that held the keys clapped
swiftly to his heart.
Now he came beneath the stack upon which our two trespassers watched
and wondered, and there remained for a space lost from view. There was to
be heard a clinking as though he operated with his lantern, and with it a
shuffling as though he disturbed the straw. Next he suddenly went very
swiftly to the further door, passed through it in haste, and could be heard
locking it from the outside, then wrenching at the key as though in a great
hurry to be gone, then gone.
"That's funny," said Mr. Wriford. "Was he looking for something?"
"He was precious secret about it," said Mr. Puddlebox.
"Damn it," cried Mr. Wriford, "he's left his lamp behind. You can see the
gleam."
Mr. Puddlebox, like curious hound that investigates the breeze, sat with
chin up and with twitching nose; then sprang to his feet. "Curse it," cried
Mr. Puddlebox, "he's set the place afire! Skip, loony, skip, or we're
trapped!" and Mr. Puddlebox hurled himself towards the ladder, reversed
himself upon it, missed a rung in his haste, and with a very loud cry
disappeared with great swiftness, and with a very loud bump crashed with
great force to the ground.
Mr. Wriford followed. Mr. Wriford, with no very clear comprehension of
what was toward, but very eager, also slipped, also slithered, and also
crashed.
"Hell!" cried Mr. Puddlebox. "Blink! Get off me, loony!"
Mr. Wriford was raised and rolled as by convulsion of a mountain
beneath him. As he rolled, he had a glimpse of the lantern embedded in a
nest of straw, its smoky flame naked of chimney, and from the flame
towards the straw a strip of cloth with a little red smoulder midway upon it.
As he sat up, the smoulder flared to a little puff of flame, ran swiftly down

the cloth, flared again in the straw, then was eclipsed beneath the mighty
Puddlebox, bounded forward from hands and knees upon it.
"The lamp, boy!" bellowed Mr. Puddlebox.
Mr. Wriford dashed at the lamp, bestowed upon it all the breath he could
summon, and flattened himself beside Mr. Puddlebox upon a spread of
flame that, as he blew, ran from lantern to straw.
"Good boy!" said Mr. Puddlebox. "That was quick," and himself at once
did something quicker. Very cautiously first he raised his body upon his
hands and knees, squinted beneath it, then dropped it again with immense
swiftness and wriggled it violently into the straw. "I'm still burning down
here," cried Mr. Puddlebox, and turned a face of much woe and concern
towards Mr. Wriford, and inquired: "How's yours, loony?"
Mr. Wriford went through the first, or cautious, portion of Mr.
Puddlebox's performance and announced: "Mine's out. Get up and let's have
a look."
"Why," said Mr. Puddlebox irritably, "how to the devil can I get up? If I
get up it will burst out, and if I lie here I shall be slowly roasted alive. This
is the most devil of a predicament that ever a man was in, and I will
challenge any man to be in a worse. Unch—my stomach is already like a
pot on the fire. Ooch! Blink."
"Well, the fire's simply gaining while you lie there," cried Mr. Wriford.
"I can smell it. It's simply gaining, you ass."
"Ass!" cried Mr. Puddlebox. "Ass! I tell you it is you will look an ass
and a roast ass if I move. I can get no weight on it to crush it like this.
Unch! What I am going to do is to turn over and press it down, moreover I
can bear roasting better on that other side of me. Now be ready to give me a
hand if the flames burst, and be ready to run, loony—up the ladder and try
the roof."
Mr. Puddlebox then raised his chest upon his arms, made a face of great
agony as the released pressure caused his stomach to feel the heat more

fiercely, then with a stupendous convulsion hurled himself about and gave
first a very loud cry as the new quarter of his person took the fire and then
many wriggles and a succession of groans as with great courage he pressed
his seat down upon the smouldering embers. Lower he wriggled, still
groaning. "Ah," groaned Mr. Puddlebox. "Arp. Ooop. Erp. Blink. Eep. Erps.
Ooop. Hell!" He then felt about him with his hands, and with the fingers of
one finding what he sought and finding it uncommonly hot, brought his
fingers to his mouth with a bitter yelp; fumbled again most cautiously,
wriggled yet more determinedly, groaned anew, yet at longer intervals, and
presently, a beaming smile overspreading his countenance, raised an arm
aloft and announced triumphantly: "Out!"
"Out!" repeated Mr. Puddlebox, rising and beating smoulder from his
waistcoat with one hand and from his trousers with the other.
"You were devilish plucky," said Mr. Wriford. "I can't help laughing now
it's over, you know. But it was a narrow squeak. You were quick getting
down, and you saved both our lives by hanging on like that."
"Why, you were quick, too, boy," said Mr. Puddlebox. "You were quick
after me as a flash—and plucky. I'd not have done it alone. You're coming
on, boy; you're coming on. You're unspooking every minute."
"I did nothing," said Mr. Wriford. But he was secretly glad at the praise,
and this, joined to his earlier determination to care nothing for anybody nor
for what happened to him, spurred him to give eager aid to what Mr.
Puddlebox now proposed.
"I am parboiled in front," said Mr. Puddlebox, finishing his beating of
himself, "and I am underdone behind; but the fire is out, and now it is for us
to get out. Loony, that was a damned, cold-blooded villain that came here to
burn us, and a damned ugly villain as ever I saw, and I will challenge any
man to show me an uglier. There is a lesson to be taught him, my loony, and
there is compensation to be paid by him; and this he shall be taught and
shall pay before I am an hour older in sin."
With this Mr. Puddlebox marched very determinedly up the ladder which
he had descended very abruptly, and preceded Mr. Wriford across the top of

the hay to the point where this was nearest met by the sloping roof. "It's all
very fine," doubted Mr. Wriford, addressing the determined back as they
made their way, "it's all very fine, Puddlebox, but mind you we look like
getting ourselves in a devil of a fix if we go messing round this chap,
whoever he is. He's probably the farmer. If he is it looks as if he wanted to
fire his barn to get the insurance; and it'll be an easy thing for him, and a
jolly good thing, to shove the blame on us. That's what I think."
"Loony," returned Mr. Puddlebox, arrived under the roof and facing him,
"you think too much, and that's just what's the matter with you, as I've told
you before. To begin with, his barn has not been burnt, and that's just where
we've got him. We are heroes, my loony, and I am a burnt hero, and some
one's got to pay for it."
Mr. Wriford's reply to this was first a look of sharp despair upon his face
and then to raise his fists and drum them fiercely upon his head.
"Why, boy! boy!" cried Mr. Puddlebox and caught Mr. Wriford's hands
and held them. "Why, what to the devil is that for?"
"That's for what I was doing!" cried Mr. Wriford. "That's because I
stopped to think. I'm never going to think any more, and I'm never going to
stop any more. And if I catch myself stopping or thinking I shall kill myself
if need be!"
"Well, why to the devil," said Mr. Puddlebox very quickly, "do you stop
to beat yourself instead of doing what I tell you? Where there's a little hole,
my loony, there's easy work to make a big one. Here's plenty of little holes
in these old tiles of this roof. Up on my shoulders, loony, and get to work on
them."
CHAPTER VI

RISE AND FALL OF INTEREST IN A FARMER
Symptomatic again of Mr. Wriford's condition that his storm was gone as
quickly as it came. Now filled him only the adventure of breaking out; and
he was no sooner, with much laughter, straddled upon Mr. Puddlebox's
shoulders and pulling at the tiles, than with smallest effort the little holes in
the weather-worn roofing became the large one that Mr. Puddlebox had
promised.
"Whoa!" cried Mr. Puddlebox, plunging in the yielding hay beneath Mr.
Wriford's weight.
"Whoa!" echoed Mr. Wriford, and to check the staggering grabbed at the
crumbling tiles.
"Blink!" cried Mr. Puddlebox and collapsed. "Curse me, is the roof come
in on us?"
Mr. Wriford extricated himself and stood away, rubbing his head that had
received tiles like discharge of thunderbolts. "A pretty good chunk of it
has," said Mr. Wriford. "There's your hole right enough."
This was indeed a great rent capable of accommodating their purpose
and more; and Mr. Puddlebox, whose head also needed rubbing, now arose
and examined it with his customary cheerfulness. "That's a fine hole, boy,"
said Mr. Puddlebox, "and a clever one also, for here to this side of it runs a
beam which, if it will support us, will have us out, and if it will not, will
fetch the whole roof down and have us out that way. Jump for the beam,
boy, while I lift you."
Mr. Puddlebox's hands on either side of Mr. Wriford's hips, jumping him,
and then at his legs, shoving him, enabled Mr. Wriford with small exertion
soon to be straddled along the roof, and then with very enormous exertion
to engage in the prodigious task of dragging Mr. Puddlebox after him.
When this was accomplished so far as that Mr. Puddlebox's arms, head and
chest were upon the beam and the remainder of his body suspended from it,
"It's devilish steep up here," grunted Mr. Wriford, flat on his face, hauling

amain on the slack of Mr. Puddlebox's trousers, and not at all at his
strongest by reason of much laughter at Mr. Puddlebox's groans and
strainings; "it's devilish steep and nothing to hold on to. Look out how you
come or you'll have us both over and break our necks."
"Well, when to the devil shall I come?" groaned Mr. Puddlebox. "This is
the very devil of a pain to have my stomach in; and I challenge any man to
have his stomach in a worse. I must drop down again or I am like to be cut
in halves."
"I'll never get you up again if you do," Mr. Wriford told him. "I've got
your trousers tight to heave you if you'll swing. Swing your legs sideways,
and when I say 'Three' swing them up on the beam as high as you can."
The counting of One and Two set Mr. Puddlebox's legs, aided by Mr.
Wriford's hands on his stern, swinging like a vast pendulum. "Hard as you
can as you come back," called Mr. Wriford, "and hang on like death when
you're up—THREE!"
With a most tremendous swing the boots of the pendulum reached the
roof and clawed a foothold. Between heels and one shoulder its powerful
stern depended ponderously above the hay. "Heave yourself!" shouted Mr.
Wriford, hauling on the trousers. "Roll yourself! Heave yourself!" Mr.
Puddlebox heaved enormously, rolled tremendously, and, like the
counterbalancing machine of the police sergeant, up came his stern, and
prodigiously over.
"Look out!" cried Mr. Wriford. "Look out! Let go, you ass!"
"Blink!" cried Mr. Puddlebox, flat and rolling on the steep pitch of the
roof. "Blink! We're killed!" clutched anew at Mr. Wriford, tore him from his
moorings, and, knotted with him in panic-stricken embrace, whirled away
to take the plunge and then the drop.
The strawyard in which the barn stood was fortunately well bedded in
straw about the walls of the building. When, with tremendous thump, with
the familiar sound of smashing glass and familiar scent of whisky upon the
morning air, the two had come to rest and had discovered themselves

unbroken—"Why the dickens didn't you let go of me?" Mr. Wriford
demanded. "I could have hung on with one hand and held you."
Mr. Puddlebox sat up with his jolly smile and glancing at the height of
their descent gave with much fervour:
"O ye falls of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him
for ever!"
Mr. Wriford jumped up and waved his arms and laughed aloud and then
cried: "That was all right. Now I'm not caring! Now I'm living!"
"Why, look you, my loony," said Mr. Puddlebox, beaming upon him with
immense delight, "look you, that was very much all right; and that is why I
return praise for it. We might have been killed in falling from there, but
most certainly we are not killed; and if we had not fallen we should still be
up there, and how I should have found heart to make such a devil of a leap I
am not at all aware. Here we are down and nothing the worse save for this
disaster that, curse me, my whisky is gone again. Thus there is cause for
praise in everything, as I have told you, and in this fall such mighty good
cause as I shall challenge you or any man to look at that roof and deny.
Now," continued Mr. Puddlebox, getting to his feet, "do you beat your head
again, boy, or do we proceed to the farmhouse?"
Mr. Wriford said seriously, "No, I'm damned if I beat my head now,
because that time I didn't stop and didn't think except just for a second when
we were falling, and then I couldn't stop even if I'd wanted to. No, I'm
damned if I beat my head this time."
"What it is," said Mr. Puddlebox, emptying his tail-pocket of the broken
whisky bottle, and proceeding with Mr. Wriford towards the farmhouse,
"what it is, is that you are damned if you do beat your head—that is, you are
spooked, loony, which is the same thing."
Mr. Wriford paid no apparent attention to this, but his glee at believing
that, as he had said, he now was not caring and now was living, gave an
excited fierceness to his share in their immediate behaviour, which now
became very extraordinary.

CHAPTER VII
PROFOUND ATTACHMENT TO HIS FARM OF A
FARMER
I
The front door of the farmhouse, embowered in a porch, was found to be
on the side further from the strawyard. A fine knocker, very massive, hung
upon the door, and this Mr. Puddlebox now seized and operated very loudly,
with effect of noise which, echoing through the silent house and through the
still air of early morning, would in former circumstances have utterly
horrified Mr. Wriford and have put him to panic-stricken flight in very
natural apprehension of what it would bring forth. Now, however, it had no
other effect upon him than first to make him give a nervous gasp and
nervous laugh of nervous glee, and next himself to seize the knocker and
put into it all the determination of those old days forever ended and these
new days of freedom in which he cared for nothing and for nobody now
begun.
Fiercely Mr. Wriford knocked until his arm was tired and then flung
down the knocker with a last crash and turned on Mr. Puddlebox a flushed
face and eyes that gleamed. "I don't care a damn what happens!" he cried.
"My word," said Mr. Puddlebox, gazing at him, "something is like to
happen now after all that din. You've got hold of yourself this time, boy."
Mr. Wriford laughed recklessly. "I'll show you," he cried, "I'll show you
this time!" and took up the knocker again.
But something was shown without his further effort. His hand was
scarcely put to the knocker, when a casement window grated above the

porch in which they stood, and a very harsh voice cried: "What's up? Who's
that? What's the matter there?" and then with a change of tone: "What's that
light in the sky? Is there a fire?"
Mr. Wriford, his new fierceness of not caring, of letting himself go,
fierce upon him, was for rushing out of the porch to look up at the window
and face this inquiry, but Mr. Puddlebox a moment restrained him. "That's
our old villain for sure," Mr. Puddlebox whispered. "There's no ghost of
light in the sky that fire would make; but he's prepared for one, and that
proves him the old villain that he is."
"Now, then!" rasped the voice. "Who are you down there? What's up?
What's that light in the sky?"
Out from the porch charged Mr. Wriford, Mr. Puddlebox with a hand on
his arm bidding him: "Go warily, boy; leave this to me."
So they faced the window, and there, sure enough, framed within it, was
displayed the gentleman that had been seen with the lantern, with the black
scrub upon his upper lip, and with the yellow teeth protruded beneath it.
"That light is the moon," Mr. Puddlebox informed him pleasantly. "Luna,
the dear old moon. Queen-Empress of the skies."
"The moon!" shouted the yellow-toothed gentleman. "The moon! Who
the devil are you, and what's your business?"
Mr. Puddlebox responded stoutly to this rough address. "Why, what to
the devil else should it be but the moon? Is it something else you're looking
for—?"
The yellow-toothed gentleman interrupted him by leaning out to his
waist from the window and bellowing: "Something else! Come, what the
devil's up and what's your business, or I'll rouse the house and set about the
pair of 'ee."
Then Mr. Wriford, no longer to be restrained. Mr. Wriford, fierce to
indulge his resolution not to care for anybody and shaking with the

excitement of it. Mr. Wriford, to Mr. Puddlebox's much astonishment, in
huge and ferocious bawl: "What's up!" bawled Mr. Wriford, hopping about
in reckless ecstasy of fierceness. "What's up! Why, you know jolly well
what's up, you beastly old villain. Tried to set your barn afire, you ugly-
faced old scoundrel! I saw you! I was in there! I saw you with your lamp!
Come down, you rotten-toothed old fiend! Come down and have your face
smashed, you miserable old sinner!"
The gentleman thus opprobriously addressed disappeared with great
swiftness, and immediately could be heard thumping down-stairs with
sounds that betokened bare feet.
"That's done it," said Mr. Wriford, wiping his face which was very hot,
and placed himself before the porch to await the expected arrival.
"My goodness, it has," said Mr. Puddlebox. "You've let yourself go this
time, boy. And what the devil is going to happen next—
"I'll show you," cried Mr. Wriford and, as the key turned in the lock and
the door opened, proceeded to the demonstration thus promised with a
fierceness of action even more astonishing than his earlier outburst of
words.
The door was no sooner opened to reveal the yellow-toothed gentleman
in his nightshirt and bare feet, than Mr. Wriford rushed upon him, seized
him by his flowing garment, and dragged him forth into the yard. Mr.
Wriford then revolved very swiftly, causing the yellow-toothed gentleman,
who had the wider ambit to perform, to revolve more swiftly yet, and this
on naked feet that made him complain very loudly and bound very highly
when they lighted upon a stone, spun him in these dizzy circles down the
yard, and after a final maze at final speed released him with the result that
the yellow-toothed gentleman first performed a giddy whirl entirely on his
own account, then the half of another on his heels and in mortal danger of
overbalancing, and then, with the best intentions in the world to complete
this circuit, was checked by waltzing into his duck-pond, wherein with a
very loud shriek he disappeared.

Mr. Wriford again wiped his face, which was now much hotter than
before, and with a cry of "Come on!" to Mr. Puddlebox, who was staring in
amazement towards the pond and its struggling occupant, made a run to the
house. Mr. Puddlebox joined him within the door, and Mr. Wriford then
locked the door behind them, and looking very elatedly at Mr. Puddlebox,
inquired of him triumphantly: "Well, what about that?"
"Loony," said Mr. Puddlebox, "I never saw the like of it. It's a licker."
"So it is!" cried Mr. Wriford. "I fairly buzzed him, didn't I? You needn't
whisper. There's no one here but ourselves, I'm pretty sure. I'm pretty sure
that chap's managed to get the place to himself so that he could make no
mistake about getting his barn burnt down. Anyway, I'm going to see, and I
don't care a dash if there is." And by way of seeing, Mr. Wriford put up his
head and shouted: "Hulloa! Hulloa, is there anybody in here?"
"Hulloa!" echoed Mr. Puddlebox, subscribing with great glee to Mr.
Wriford's excitement.
"Hulloa!" cried Mr. Wriford in a very loud voice. "If anybody wants a hit
in the eye come along down and ask for it!"
To this engaging invitation there was from within the house no answer;
but from without, against the door, a very loud thud which was the yellow-
toothed gentleman hurling himself against it, and then his fists beating
against it and his voice crying: "Let me in! Let me in, won't you!"
"No, I won't!" called Mr. Wriford, and answered the banging with lusty
and defiant kicks. "Get back to your pond or I'll come and throw you there."
"I'm cold," cried the yellow-toothed gentleman, changing his voice to
one of entreaty. "Look here, I want to talk to you."
"Go and light your barn again and warm yourself," shouted Mr.
Puddlebox; but the laughter with which he shouted it was suddenly
checked, for the yellow-toothed gentleman was heard to call: "Hullo! Hi!
Jo! Quick, Jo! Come along quick!"

"Boy," said Mr. Puddlebox, "we ought to have got away from this while
he was in the pond. What to the devil's going to happen now?"
"Listen," said Mr. Wriford; but they had scarcely listened a minute
before there happened a sound of breaking glass in an adjoining room.
"They're getting in through a window," cried Mr. Wriford. "We must keep
them out."
Several doors led from the spacious old hall in which they stood, and Mr.
Puddlebox, choosing one, chose the wrong one, for here was an apartment
whose window stood intact and beyond which the sounds of entry could
still be heard. A further door in this room that might have led to them was
found to be locked and without key. Mr. Puddlebox and Mr. Wriford
charged back to the hall, down the hall alongside this room, through a door
which led to a passage behind it, and thence through another door which
revealed one gentleman in his nightshirt, yellow and black with mire from
head to foot, who was reaching down a wide-mouthed gun from the wall,
and another gentleman in corduroys, having a bucolic countenance which
was very white, who in the act of entry had one leg on the floor and the
other through the window.
II
"If they've got in we'll run for it," Mr. Puddlebox had said as they came
down the passage. But the room was entered so impetuously that the only
running done was, perforce, into it, and at that with a stumbling rush on the
part of Mr. Puddlebox into the back of the nightshirt and the collapse of Mr.
Wriford over Mr. Puddlebox's heels upon him. Mr. Puddlebox encircled the
nightshirt about its waist with his arms; the nightshirt, gun in hand,
staggered towards the corduroy and with the gun swept its supporting leg
from under it; the gun discharged itself through its bell-shaped mouth with
an appalling explosion; the corduroy with a loud shriek to the effect that he
was dead fell upon the head of the nightshirt; and there was immediately a
tumult of four bodies with sixteen whirling legs and arms, no party to which

had any clear perception as to the limbs that belonged to himself, or any
other strategy of campaign than to claw and thump at whatever portion of
whoever's body offered itself for the process. There were, with all this, cries
of very many kinds and much obscenity of meaning, changing thrice to a
universal bellow of horror as first a table and its contents discharged itself
upon the mass, then a dresser with an artillery of plates and dishes, and
finally a grandfather clock which, descending sideways along the wall,
swept with it a comprehensive array of mural decorations.
Assortment of arms and legs was at length begun out of all this welter by
the corduroyed gentleman who, finding himself not dead as he had
believed, but in great danger of reaching that state in some very horrible
form, found also his own hands and knees and upon them crawled away
very rapidly towards an adjoining room whose door stood invitingly open.
There were fastened to his legs as he did so a pair of hands whose owner he
first drew after him, then dislodged by, on the threshold of the open door,
beating at them with a broken plate, and having done so, sprung upright to
make for safety. The owner of the hands however sprung with him, attached
them—and it was Mr. Wriford—to his throat, and thrust him backwards into
the adjoining room and into the midst of several shallow pans of milk with
which the floor of this room was set.
This apartment was, in fact, the dairy; and here, while thunder and
crashing proceeded from the other room in which Mr. Puddlebox and the
nightshirt weltered, extraordinary contortions to the tune of great splashing
and tin-pan crashing were forced upon the corduroyed gentleman by Mr.
Wriford's hands at his throat. Broad shelves encircled this room, and first
the corduroyed gentleman was bent backwards over the lowest of these
until the back of his head adhered to some pounds of butter, then whirled
about and bent sideways until in some peril of meeting his end by
suffocation in cream, then inclined to the other side until a basket of eggs
were no longer at their highest market value, and finally hurled from Mr.
Wriford to go full length and with a large white splash into what pans of
milk remained in position on the floor.
Mr. Wriford, with a loud "Ha!" of triumph, and feeling, though greatly
bruised in the first portion of the fight and much besmeared with dairy-

produce in the second, much more of a man than he had ever felt before,
then dashed through the door and locked it upon the corduroy's struggles to
free himself from death in a milky grave, and then prepared to give fierce
assistance to the drier but as deadly fray still waging between Mr.
Puddlebox and the nightshirt.
Upon the welter of crockery and other debris here to view, these
combatants appeared to be practising for a combined rolling match, or to be
engaged in rolling the litter into a smooth and equable surface. Locked very
closely together by their arms, and with equal intensity by their legs, they
rolled first to one end of the room or to a piece of overturned furniture and
then, as if by common consent, back again to the other end or to another
obstacle. This they performed with immense swiftness and with no vocal
sounds save very distressed breathing as they rolled and very loud and
simultaneous Ur! as they checked at the end of a roll and started back for
the next.
As Mr. Wriford watched, himself breathing immensely after his own
exertions yet laughing excitedly at what he saw, he was given opportunity
of taking part by the rollers introducing a new diversion into their exercise.
This was provided by the grandfather clock, which, embedded in the debris
like a partly submerged coffin, now obstructed their progress. A common
spirit of splendid determination not to be stopped by it appeared
simultaneously to animate them. With one very loud Ur! they came against
it; with a secondhand a third and each time a louder Ur! charged it again
and again; with a fourth Ur! magnificently mounted it; and with a fifth, the
debris on this side being lower, plunged down from it. The shock in some
degree relaxed their embrace one with the other. From their locked forms a
pair of naked legs upshot. Mr. Wriford jumped for the ankles, clutched them
amain, and with the information "I've got his legs!" and with its effect,
encouraged Mr. Puddlebox to a mighty effort, whereby at length he broke
free from the other's grasp, sat upright upon the nightshirt's chest, and then,
securing its arms, faced about towards Mr. Wriford, and seated himself
upon the nightshirt's forehead.
"Where's yours?" said Mr. Puddlebox, when he had collected sufficient
breath for the question.

"Locked up in there," said Mr. Wriford, nodding his head towards the
dairy.
"Loony," said Mr. Puddlebox, "this has been the most devil of a thing
that ever any man has been in, and I challenge you or any man ever to have
been in a worse."
"I'll have you in a worse," bawled the nightshirt. "I'll—" and as though
incapable of giving sufficient words to his intentions he opened his mouth
very widely and emitted from it a long and roaring bellow. Into this cavern
of his jaws Mr. Puddlebox, now kneeling on the nightshirt's arms, dropped a
cloth cap very conveniently abandoned by the corduroy; and then, facing
across the prostrate form, Mr. Puddlebox and Mr. Wriford went into a
hysteria of laughter only checked at last by the nightshirt, successfully
advantaging himself of the weakening effect of their mirth, making a
tremendous struggle to overthrow them.
"But, loony," said Mr. Puddlebox when the farmer was again mastered,
"we are best out of this, for such a battle I could by no means fight again."
"Well, I don't care," said Mr. Wriford. "I don't care a dash what happens
or who comes. Still, we'd better go. First we must tie this chap up and then
clean ourselves. My man's all right in there. There's no window where he is
—only a grating round the top. I'll find something to fix this one with if you
can hold his legs."
This Mr. Puddlebox, by kneeling upon the nightshirt's arms and
stretching over them to his legs, was able to do, and Mr. Wriford, voyaging
the dishevelled room, gave presently a gleeful laugh and presented himself
before Mr. Puddlebox with a wooden box and with information that made
Mr. Puddlebox laugh also and the nightshirt, unable to shout, to express his
personal view in new and tremendous struggles.
"Nails," said Mr. Wriford, "and a hammer. We'll nail him down;" and
very methodically, working along each side of each extended arm, and
down each border of the nightshirt pulled taut across his person, proceeded
to attach the yellow-toothed gentleman to the floor more literally and more

closely than any occupier, unless similarly fastened, can ever have been
attached to his boyhood's home.
"There!" said Mr. Wriford, stepping back and regarding his handiwork,
which was indeed very creditably performed, with conscionable
satisfaction. "There you are, my boy, as tight as a sardine lid, and if you
utter a sound you'll get one through your head as well."
This, however, was a contingency which the nightshirt, thanks to the cap
in his mouth, was in no great danger of arousing, and leaving him to enjoy
the flavour of his gag and his unique metallic bordering, which from the
hue of his countenance and the flame of his eyes he appeared indisposed to
do, there now followed on the part of Mr. Wriford and Mr. Puddlebox a
very welcome and a highly necessary adjustment of their toilets. It was
performed by Mr. Puddlebox with his mouth prodigiously distended with a
meal collected from the kitchen, and by Mr. Wriford, as he cooled, with
astonished reflection upon the extraordinary escapades which he had now
added to his exploits of the previous day. "Well, this is a most extraordinary
state of affairs for me," reflected Mr. Wriford, much as he had reflected
earlier in the morning. "Most extraordinary, I'm dashed if it isn't! I've pretty
well killed a chap and drowned him in milk; and I've slung a chap into a
pond and then nailed him down by his nightshirt. Well, I'm doing things at
last; and I don't care a dash what happens; and I don't care a dash what
comes next."
III
Now this cogitation took place in an upper room whither Mr. Wriford
had repaired in quest of soap and brushes, and what came next came at once
and came very quickly, being first reported by Mr. Puddlebox, who at this
point rushed up-stairs to announce as rapidly as his distended mouth would
permit: "Loony, there's a cart come up to the door with four men in it—
hulkers!" and next illustrated by a loud knocking responsive to which there
immediately arose from the imprisoned corduroy a great shouting and from

the gagged and nailed-down nightshirt a muffled blaring as of a cow
restrained from its calf.
Very much quicker than might be supposed, and while Mr. Puddlebox
and Mr. Wriford stared one upon the other in irresolute concern, these
sounds blended into an enormous hullabaloo below stairs which spoke of
the entry by the window of the new arrivals, of the release from his gag of
the nailed-down nightshirt and from his milky gaol of the imprisoned
corduroy, and finally of wild and threatening search which now came
pouring very alarmingly up the stairs.
Mr. Wriford locked the door, Mr. Puddlebox opened the window, and
immediately their door was first rattled with cries of "Here they are!" and
then assailed by propulsion against it of very violent bodies.
The drop from the window was not one to be taken in cold blood. It was
taken, nevertheless, side by side and at hurtling speed by Mr. Wriford and
by Mr. Puddlebox through each half of the casement; and this done, and the
concussion recovered from, the farm surroundings which divided them
from the road were taken also at headlong bounds accelerated when
midway across by a loud crash and by ferocious view-hulloas from the
window.
The boundary hedge was gained. There was presented to the fugitives a
roadside inn having before it, travel-stained, throbbing, and unattended, a
very handsome touring motor-car. There was urged upon their resources as
they jumped to the road the sight of two men red-hot in their rear and, more
alarmingly, three led by the milky corduroy short-cutting towards their
flank.
"Blink!" gasped Mr. Puddlebox. "Blink! Hide!" and ran two bewildered
paces up the road and three distracted paces down it.
"Hide where?" panted Mr. Wriford, his wits much shaken by his run, by
the close sight of the pursuit, and more than ever by Mr. Puddlebox
bumping into him as he turned in his first irresolution and colliding with
him again as he turned in his second.

"Blink!—Here," cried Mr. Puddlebox, made a dash at the motor-car—
Mr. Wriford in bewildered confusion on his heels—opened the door, and
closing it behind them, crouched with Mr. Wriford on the floor.
"Run for it the opposite way as soon as they pass us," said Mr.
Puddlebox. "This is a very devil of a business, and I will challenge—Here
they come!"
But, quicker than they, came also another, and he from the inn. This was
a young man in livery of a chauffeur, who emerged very hurriedly wiping
his mouth and telling the landlord who followed him: "My gov'nor won't be
half wild if I ain't there by two o'clock." With which he jumped very nimbly
to his wheel, released his clutch, and with no more than a glance at the
milky corduroy and his friends who now came baying down the hedge, was
in a moment bearing Mr. Puddlebox and Mr. Wriford at immense speed
towards wherever it was that his impatient gov'nor awaited him.
Mr. Wriford put his hands to his head and said, more to himself than to
Mr. Puddlebox: "Well, this is the most extraordinary—"
Mr. Puddlebox settled his back against the seat, and cocking a very
merry eye at Mr. Wriford, chanted with enormous fervour:
"O ye motors of the Lord, bless ye the Lord: praise Him and magnify
Him for ever."

CHAPTER VIII
FIRST PERSON EXTRAORDINARY
"Well—" said Mr. Wriford to himself.
There is to be added here, as bringing Mr. Wriford to this exclamation,
that at midday the chauffeur, having whirled through rural England at great
speed for some hours on end, again drew up at a roadside inn no less
isolated than that at which he had first accommodated his passengers, and
had no sooner repaired within than Mr. Puddlebox, first protruding a
cautious head and finding no soul in sight, then led out the way through the
further door and then up the road until a friendly hedgeside invited them to
rest and to the various foods which Mr. Puddlebox had brought from the
farm and now produced from his pockets.
Mr. Wriford ate in silence, and nothing that Mr. Puddlebox could say
could fetch him from his thoughts. "Well," thought Mr. Wriford, "this is the
most extraordinary state of affairs! A week ago I was an editor in London
and afraid of everything and everybody. Now I've been in the river, and I've
stolen a ride in a wagon, and I've had a devil of a fight with a wagoner, and
I've kicked a policeman head over heels bang into a ditch, and I've nearly
been burnt alive, and I've broken out through the roof of a barn and fallen a
frightful buster off it, and I've slung a chap into a pond, and I've nearly
killed a chap and half-drowned him in milk, and I've nailed a man to the
floor by his nightshirt, and I've jumped out of a high window and been
chased for my life, and I've stolen a ride in a motor-car, and where the devil
I am now I haven't the remotest idea. Well, it's the most extraordinary—!"

BOOK THREE
ONE OF THE FRIGHTENED ONES
CHAPTER I
BODY WORK
I
It was in early May that Mr. Wriford cast himself into the river.
Declining Summer, sullied in her raiment by September's hand, slain by
October's, found him still in Mr. Puddlebox's company. But a different
Wriford from him whom that jolly gentleman had first met upon the road
from Barnet. In body a harder man, what of the open life, the mad
adventures, and of the casual work—all manual work—in farm and field
that supplied their necessaries when these ran short. And harder man in
soul. "You're a confirmed rascal, sir," addressed him the chairman of a
Bench of country magistrates before whom—and not their first experience
of such—he and Mr. Puddlebox once were haled, their offence that they had
been found sleeping in the outbuildings of a rural parsonage.
The rector, a gentleman, appearing unwillingly to prosecute, pleaded for
the prisoners. A trivial offence, he urged—a stormy night on which he
would gladly have given them shelter had they asked for it, and he turned to
the dock with: "Why did you not come and ask for it, my friend?"
"Why, there'd have been no fun in doing that!" said Mr. Wriford.

"Fun!" exclaimed the rector. "No, no fun perhaps. But a hearty welcome
I—"
"Oh, keep your hearty welcomes to yourself!" cried Mr. Wriford.
And then the chairman: "You're a confirmed rascal, sir. A confirmed and
stubborn rascal. When our good vicar—"
"Well, you're a self-important, over-fed, and very gross-looking
pomposity," returned Mr. Wriford.
"Seven days," said the chairman, very swollen. "Take them away,
constable."
"Curse me," said Mr. Puddlebox when, accommodated for the night in
adjoining cells, they conversed over the partition that divided them. "Curse
me, you're no better than a fool, loony, and I challenge any man to be a
bigger. Here we are at these vile tasks for a week and would have got away
scot free and a shilling from the parson but for your fool's tongue."
"Well, I had to say something to stir them up," explained Mr. Wriford. "I
must be doing something all the time, or I get—
"Well, there's better things to do than this cursed foolishness," grumbled
Mr. Puddlebox.
"It's new to me," said Mr. Wriford. "That's what I want."
That indeed was what he wanted in these months and ever sought with
sudden bursts of fierceness or of irresponsible prankishness. He must be
doing something all the time and doing something that brought reprisals,
either in form of fatigue that followed hard work in their odd jobs—
digging, carting stable refuse, hoeing a long patch of root crops, harvesting
which gave the pair steady employment and left them at the turn of the year
with a stock of shillings in hand, roadside work where labour had fallen
short and a builder was behindhand with a contract for some cottages—or
in form of punishment such as followed his truculence before the magistrate
or was got by escapades of the nature of their early adventures.

Something that brought reprisals, something to be felt in his body. "Why,
you don't understand, you see," Mr. Wriford would cry, responsive to
remonstrance from Mr. Puddlebox. "All my life I've felt things here—here
in my head," and he would strike his head hard and begin to speak loudly
and very fiercely and quickly, so that often his words rolled themselves
together or were several times repeated. "In my head, head, head—all
mixed up and whirling there so I felt I must scream to let it all out: scream
out senseless words and loud roars like
uggranddlearrrrohohohgarragarragaddaurrr! Now my head's empty, empty,
empty, and I can smash at it as if it didn't belong to me. Look here!"
"Ah, stop it, boy, stop it!" Mr. Puddlebox would cry, and catch at Mr.
Wriford's fist that banged in illustration.
"Well, that's just to show you. Man alive, I've stood sometimes in my
office with my head in such a whirling crash, and feeling so sick and
frightened—that always went with it—that I've felt I must catch by the
throat the next man who came in and kill him dead before he could speak to
me. In my head, man, in my head—felt things all my life in my head: and in
my heart;" and Mr. Wriford would strike himself fiercely upon his breast.
"Felt things in my heart so I was always in a torment and always tying
myself up tighter and tighter and tighter—not doing this because I thought
it was unkind to this person; and doing that because I thought I ought to do
it for that person—messing, messing, messing round and spoiling my life
with rotten sentiment and rotten ideas of rotten duty. God, when I think of
the welter of it all! Now, my boy, it's all over! My head's as empty as an
empty bucket and so's my heart. I don't care a curse for anybody or
anything. I'm beginning to do what I ought to have done years ago—enjoy
myself. It's only my body now; I want to ache it and feel it and hurt it and
keep it going all the time. If I don't, if I stop going and going and going, I
begin to think; and if I begin to think I begin to go back again. Then up I
jump, my boy, and let fly at somebody again, or dig or whatever the work
is, as if the devil was in me and until my body is ready to break, and then I
say to my body: 'Go on, you devil; go on. I'll keep you at it till you drop.
You've been getting soft and rotten while my head was working and driving
me. Now it's your turn. But you don't drive me, my boy; I drive you. Get at
it!' That's the way of it, Puddlebox. I'm free now, and I'm enjoying myself,

and I want to go on doing new things and doing them hard, always and all
the time. Now then!"
Mr. Puddlebox: "Sure you're enjoying yourself, boy?"
"Why, of course I am. When it was all this cursed head and all worry I
didn't belong to myself. Now it's all body, and I'm my own. I've missed
something all my life. Now I'm finding it. I'm finding what it is to be happy
—it's not to care. That's the secret of it."
Mr. Puddlebox would shake his head. "That's not the secret of it, boy."
"What is, then?"
"Why, what I've told you: not to think so much about yourself."
"Well, that's just what I'm doing. I'm not caring a curse what happens to
me."
"Yes, and thinking about that all the time. That's just where you're
spooked, boy."
"Spooked!" Mr. Wriford would cry with an easy laugh. "That's seeing
myself like I used to. I've not seen myself for weeks—months."
"But you're not unspooked yet, boy," Mr. Puddlebox would return.
II
They were come west in their tramping—set in that quarter by the
motor-car that had run them from that early adventure with the nightshirted
and the corduroyed gentlemen. It had alighted them in Wiltshire, and they
continued, while splendid summer in imperial days and pageant nights
attended them, by easy and haphazard stages down into Dorset and thence
through Somerset and Devon into Cornwall by the sea.

Many amazements in these counties and in these months—some of a
train with those afforded by the liver-cutting wagoner and by the yellow-
toothed farmer bent upon arson; some quieter, but to Mr. Wriford, if he
permitted thought, not less amazing—as when he found himself working
with his hands and in his sweat for manual wages; some in outrage of law
and morals that had shocked the Mr. Wriford of the London days. He must
be doing something, as he had told Mr. Puddlebox, and doing something all
the time. What he did not tell was that these things—when they were wild,
irresponsible, grotesque, wrong, immoral—-were done by conscious effort
before they were entered upon. Mr. Wriford used to—had to—dare himself
to do them. "Now, here you are!" Mr. Wriford would say to himself when
by freakish thought some opportunity offered itself. "Here you are! Ah, you
funk it! I knew you would. I thought so. You funk it!" And then, thus
taunted, would come the sudden burst of fierceness or of irresponsible
prankishness, and Mr. Wriford would rush at the thing fiercely, and fiercely
begin it, and with increasing fierceness carry it to settlement—one way or
the other.
Once, up from a roadside to a labourer who came sturdily by, "I'll fight
you for tuppence!" cried Mr. Wriford, facing him. "Ba goom, I'll faight thee
for nowt!" said the man and knocked him down, and when again he rushed,
furious and bleeding, smashed him again, and laughing at the ease of it, trod
on his way.
"Well, why to the devil did you do such a mad thing?" said Mr.
Puddlebox, awakened from a doze and tending Mr. Wriford's hurts. "Where
to the devil is the sense of such a thing?"
"I thought of it as he came along," said Mr. Wriford, "and I had to do it."
"Why, curse me," cried Mr. Puddlebox, "I mustn't even sleep for your
madness, boy."
"Well, I've done it," Mr. Wriford returned, much hurt but fiercely glad.
"I've done it, and I'm happy. If I hadn't—oh, you wouldn't understand.
That's enough. Let it bleed. Let the damned thing bleed. I like to see it."

He used to like to sit and count his bruises. He used to like, after hard
work on some employment, to sit and reckon which muscles ached him
most and then to spring up and exercise them so they ached anew. He used
to like to sit and count over and over again the money that their casual
labours earned him. These—bruises, and aches and shillings—were the
indisputable testimony to his freedom, to the fact that he at last was doing
things, to the reprisals against which he set his body and full earned. He
used to like to go long periods without food. He used to like, when rain fell
and Mr. Puddlebox sought shelter, to stand out in the soak of it and feel its
soak. These—fastings and discomforts—were manifests that his body was
suffering things, and that he was its master and his own.
Through all these excesses—checking him in many, from many
dissuading him, in their results supporting him—Mr. Puddlebox stuck to
him. That soft, fat, kindly and protective hand came often between him and
self-invited violence from strangers by Mr. Puddlebox—when Mr. Wriford
was not looking—tapping his head and accompanying the sign with nods
and frowns in further illustration, or by more active rescues from his
escapades. Chiefly Mr. Puddlebox employed his unfailing good-humour as
deterrent of Mr. Wriford's fierceness. He learnt to let the starvation, or the
exposure to the elements, or the engagement in some wild escapade, go to a
certain pitch, then to argue with Mr. Wriford until he made him angry, then
by some jovial whimsicality to bring him against his will to involuntary
laughter; then Mr. Wriford would be pliable, consent to eat, to take shelter,
to cease his folly. Much further than this Mr. Puddlebox carried the
affection he had conceived for Mr. Wriford—and all it cost him. Once when
lamentably far gone in his cups, he was startled out of their effects by
becoming aware that Mr. Wriford was producing from his pockets articles
that glistened beneath the moon where it lit the open-air resting-place to
which he had no recollection of having come.
He stared amazed at two watches, a small clock, spoons, and some silver
trinkets; and soon by further amazement was completely sobered. "I've
done it," said Mr. Wriford, and in his eyes could be seen the gleam, and in
his voice heard the nervous exaltation, that always went with
accomplishment of any of his fiercenesses. "I've done it! It was a devil of a
thing—right into two bedrooms—but I've done it."

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