“I would much prefer,” retorted Mortimer, “your washing your hands of Mr. Dolls, morally, Eugene.”

“So would I,” said Eugene; “but you see, dear boy, I can’t do without him.”

In a minute or two he resumed his chair, as perfectly unconcerned as usual, and rallied his friend on having so narrowly escaped the prowess of their muscular visitor.

“I can’t be amused on this theme,” said Mortimer, restlessly. “You can make almost any theme amusing to me, Eugene, but not this.”

“Well!” cried Eugene, “I am a little ashamed of it myself, and therefore let us change the subject.”

“It is so deplorably underhanded,” said Mortimer. “It is so unworthy of you, this setting on of such a shameful scout.”