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.”
“We have changed the subject!” exclaimed Eugene, airily. “We have found a new one in that word, scout. Don’t be like Patience on a mantelpiece frowning at Dolls, but sit down, and I’ll tell you something that you really will find amusing. Take a cigar. Look at this of mine. I light it—draw one puff—breathe the smoke out—there it goes—it’s Dolls!—it’s gone—and being gone you are a man again.”