“You must behave yourself, dear. Mr. Malone is a pressman. He will have it all in his rag tomorrow, and sell an extra dozen among our neighbors. ‘Strange story of high life’—you felt fairly high on that pedestal, did you not? Then a subtitle, ‘Glimpse of a singular ménage.’ He’s a foul feeder, is Mr. Malone, a carrion eater, like all of his kind— porcus ex grege diaboli —a swine from the devil’s herd. That’s it, Malone—what?”
“You are really intolerable!” said I, hotly.
He bellowed with laughter.
“We shall have a coalition presently,” he boomed, looking from his wife to me and puffing out his enormous chest. Then, suddenly altering his tone, “Excuse this frivolous family badinage, Mr. Malone. I called you back for some more serious purpose than to mix you up with our little domestic pleasantries. Run away, little woman, and don’t fret.” He placed a huge hand upon each of her shoulders. “All that you say is perfectly true. I should be a better man if I did what you advise, but I shouldn’t be quite George Edward Challenger. There are plenty of better men, my dear, but only one G. E. C. So make the best of him.” He suddenly gave her a resounding kiss, which embarrassed me even more than his violence had done. “Now, Mr. Malone,” he continued, with a great accession of dignity, “this way, if you please.”
We reentered the room which we had left so tumultuously ten minutes before. The Professor closed the door carefully behind us, motioned me into an armchair, and pushed a cigar box under my nose.
“Real San Juan Colorado,” he said. “Excitable people like you are the better for narcotics. Heavens! don’t bite it! Cut—and cut with reverence! Now lean back, and listen attentively to whatever I may care to say to you. If any remark should occur to you, you can reserve it for some more opportune time.