“Yes, and as I thought,” echoed Jack.
“Well, she was not there; but the aunt was. There’s been some infernal mistake, and she has come out to marry me.”
When Jack Murray heard this appalling statement, he stared for a second, and then threw himself on his friend’s camp cot, and gave vent to a succession of yells of laughter.
“Yes,” said his comrade, very sternly, “play to you, and death to me.”
After another violent paroxysm, Jack sat up, dried his eyes on his coat-cuffs, and said quite seriously—
“You are in a tight place this time, and no mistake. What on earth are you to do?”
“Shoot myself!” was the brief reply.
“Rubbish! Stop a moment, I have an idea!”
“What good is an idea?” said Tom, scornfully.
“Promise to place yourself in my hands, and I’ll guarantee to get you out of this business alive!”